The Small Print's Limitations
by Lisa Jane
Summary: *Sequel to An Agreement's Small Print* If Jasmine had believed it difficult dealing with Jafar when he was alive, it was easy compared to life after his death. And ten years on, it's time to come home, to the mess they've both left behind
1. Depression

**The Small Print's Limitations**

_Please, please read 'An Agreement's Small Print' before continuing on with this story, in order for this story to make sense... all characters from 'Aladdin' belong to Disney; everyone else is mine._

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**Chapter One**

"We need to make him go back."

"You can't just make him go back. You can't make him do anything."

"Well, he can't stay here. He's making things a nightmare for everyone – it wasn't so bad when he was just depressed. Now he's becoming angrier; the others are paying for his... unfavourable temper. And she needs him. "

"He has even stated his reasons for not going back?"

"Not in the slightest. Lets us know that it's none of our business and storms out."

"Unbelievable. The only one of us who can return and he won't leave."

"Well, he won't listen to reason, won't listen to us."

"... but he will listen to Leila."

*

It was six years until the young prince and princess of Agrabah returned to the desert land, even if it was only for a short time.

It had taken several months of letters being sent back and forth between the city and London to get to this point, the Sultan's continual pleads for his daughter and grandchildren to come home for the first time since they had left, and Jasmine's constant and stubborn replies of 'no', which would be followed by multiple excuses that became more and more unreasonable and bizarre as time went on.

The last excuse, before she had finally relented, had blown all the other excuses out of the water:

_Jafar wouldn't like it._

And, for a moment, the Sultan had thought that Jasmine had been referring to Jafar, the son, and the Sultan had wondered why the young boy wouldn't like it – granted, he'd never been to Agrabah, having been born after Jasmine had left the city, but by all reports and from what he'd seen of the boy in London, he was a bright and adventurous child. But then he understood, and the Sultan felt tears prickle in his eyes, tears that were unknown to the usual jolly and cheerful man.

Not for the first time, did the Sultan believe that he thought Jasmine thought her husband was still alive, and not for the first time, did the Sultan want to be able to reach out to his daughter and comfort her, but afraid that he would find a haunted look in her eyes, afraid he wouldn't be able to shake her out of her depression. He truly believed his daughter was still depressed over the loss of Jafar, the husband, from what he'd spoken of with Harun, who had travelled with the children to Agrabah.

"She seems cheerful enough, but she has no desire to meet anyone else... she still wears her wedding ring... she loved that man dearly."

And not for the first time, upon hearing that, did the Sultan want to grab a hold of Aladdin and finish out the execution that Jafar had intended for, only for Jasmine to stop him. For nothing. Again.

For Aladdin still loitered around the palace, having never gained the desire to leave, even when it quickly became clear that Jasmine was not returning home. The Sultan couldn't understand why he was staying; at the age of thirty-two, the women younger than him were turning to younger men, and the women his age or older knew of the story of years ago, and besides, who would want to marry a man who was still brooding over his long-lost love like a child? Aladdin, through all his own selfish, dim-witted actions, had successfully made himself ineligible for anyone.

The Sultan couldn't help but every time when he saw Aladdin's face, that he blamed him entirely responsible for the mess his daughter's life had fallen into. If only Aladdin had left in the multiple times Jasmine had given him to flee (if only Jafar had killed him when he'd had the chance); true, it was possible that Jasmine might have still wound up in London, having decided that before the murder, but she would've had her sorcerer at her side, giving her children (and possible future children) their father (though Harun had graciously stepped in as a male figure in their lives), and they would've been happy – her, at least; him, as happy as he ever managed, if you could call it happy. But instead he had this, and his daughter was alone, and he could still not bring himself to tell her the truth around Jafar's death; if what Harun spoke about Jasmine were true, the Sultan could not imagine how telling her the truth would make her feel any better.

Which meant Princess Aziza and Prince Jafar didn't know the true story either, which explained why Aziza was rather pleased to see old 'Uncle Al' when the children had arrived, without their mother, who had refused to come but Harun had offered to take them, explaining that he had some business to attend to, anyway. Aged twelve and six now, the children had grown up to be polite and respectful young people that the Sultan was sure the sorcerer would've been proud of, in his own demented way. Aziza already held herself in a queenly way, even if a little reserved, but with her mother's attitude and the looks to match, appearing so close to her mother in appearance that those who had been at the palace for that length of time had done double-takes when walking past the girl. The only difference in the appearance was the deep, darker eyes she had inherited from her father, and shared with her brother. And the young Jafar quickly resembled his father in appearance, already towering over the other similarly aged children, with the small but strong dark features on his face ready to grow and become a mirror image of his father. But without so much hate behind them, judging by the bright smile that would flicker across the boy's face constantly.

The fact that these were Jasmine and Jafar's children was physically obvious to those who had been around six years ago, and to the small amount of the Sultan's cold satisfaction, this was not a fact that was lost on Aladdin, whom the Sultan had watched as a flicker of resentment had travelled across his face. While the children stayed in Agrabah, Aladdin had spent time with them, taken them out into the city (without losing either one this time); he showed no ill disposition towards them – it was hardly their fault that their father had snatched their mother away from him. But when the children hadn't noticed Aladdin staring after them, the Sultan had, and he'd quietly stepped up behind the man in the courtyard.

"You don't have to stay with them," the Sultan pointed out calmly. "If it makes you feel – "

"I'm fine," Aladdin had mumbled, not bothering to hide his depressed mood, the way he hadn't bothered to hide it for years. "I care for them as if they were mine."

"But they're not, my boy," the Sultan gently reminded him. "Please remember that... they'll need to return to their home soon."

And when the Sultan turned to leave, Aladdin remained standing, staring after the children. The ones that rightfully, should've been his.

*

The night before the children were to travel home, the flickering of flames outside awoke the Sultan.

He wrinkled his nose as he slowly woke, the pale wisps of smoke creeping around his bedchamber and bothering him. Making his way out of bed, the Sultan pulled on his robe and made his way out onto the balcony, looking down to where he had seen the flames leaping up from.

What he saw made the old man's jaw fall open.

The trees in the courtyard were on fire, a fire that appeared to have been previously nearly out of control, but was slowly beginning to die down, thanks to the two figures that appeared to stand in front of the flames calmly. One, he realised with fear, was Aziza – her dark hair whipped around her face as her white nightdress fluttered violently, her eyes widened at the sight before her; the other figure was Aziza's father.

And at this realisation, the Sultan wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming.

There was no doubt that it was Sorcerer Jafar standing in the courtyard, slowly bringing the flames under control; after so many years, the Sultan would've recognised those dark robes anywhere. The man appeared to be real enough – the Sultan couldn't see through him, and bit by bit, the trees were returning to their normal green state. It was only minutes later when the courtyard was back to normal, and Jafar turned his back to face his daughter, who had a look of fear cross her face as she slunk away from him.

The Sultan had to stop himself from running down to meet them, whether Jafar had returned alive or whether he was simply a ghost was not a matter of concern. But Jasmine was his concern, and as he watched his son-in-law seemingly punish Aziza, he wondered if Jasmine's excuses of behaving as if she saw Jafar on a regular basis were, in fact, true.

And so, he didn't run towards them like a mad-man, but instead leant out over the balcony and shouted as loudly as his lungs could give him: "_Jafar!"_

At his shout, which barely seemed to make it down to the courtyard, both Aziza and Jafar looked up; Aziza's eyes opening wide at the sight of her grandfather, but it was Jafar's reaction that the Sultan was waiting for.

For a moment, there seemed to be no reaction from the man, except for the briefest flicker of understanding crossing his face, before a tilt of the head in acknowledgement. But then, in the quick blink the Sultan dared of his eyes, Jafar was gone, with Aziza sprinting across the courtyard back to the palace.

And the following day, the children were gone also, with the Sultan daring not to say anything about the encounter to them, in case of word of their father in the courtyard making it back to their mother's ears. Because for all of Jasmine's apparent beliefs of Jafar visiting her, the Sultan did not wish to indulge his daughter in the knowledge that he had actually returned, if only for a minute.

There was no point in depressing his daughter further.

_TBC_

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_A/N: Big apologies for the length of time for the sequel to appear, so much for my 'very shortly' promise in An Agreement's Small Print. Unfortunately, the insanity of work, illness and becoming engaged has rather stolen me from writing the sequel._

_But the first chapter is now here, and while I can guarantee that chapters will not come out as fast as they did for An Agreement's Small Print, they are on their way._


	2. Scientist

**The Small Print's Limitations**

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews, glad everyone's enjoyed the first chapter of part two. And thanks Lee, for the congratulations!_

_Ah, the hatred for Aladdin lives on..._

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**Chapter Two**

Ironically, the Sultan might've done a favour in telling his daughter that he'd seen Jafar – it might've given Jasmine some hope, for that was the last evening she'd seen him also, before he'd disappeared and not returned.

For four years, he'd been gone, and for four years, Jasmine had waited, but with the hope paling in her heart with every day that passed without seeing at least his outline within the house, with every night that passed without his presence besides her, at least for a little while. She would awake on the special days – her birthday, his birthday, their anniversary, Christmas – and slowly sink down in disappointment with the knowledge that he wasn't coming, and would wind up crying herself to sleep, her wedding ring clutched tightly in her fist.

What was worse, that she didn't even know why Jafar was gone.

If he'd been angry, if she'd been angry, if they had fought about something, then maybe, Jasmine would understand why he disappeared. But there had been nothing out of the ordinary that night – he'd woken her out of sleep, in a way that had made her crave his body instantly. It didn't matter that his body was slightly transparent, or that it was far cooler to touch than it had been when he was alive; all that mattered was that he was there, whether they simply talked through the night, or whether he climaxed her into dizzying heights. And she'd been well on the way to the heights the night that Jafar left, his mouth slowly making its way down her body, cold kisses down her abdomen that were both uncomfortable and seductive.

But then he'd paused, before moving back again to kiss her lips, his cloak covering his clothed body and her naked one, vulnerable under him. "I have to go," he murmured. "I shouldn't be long; wait for me."

And then he'd faded into thin air.

And Jasmine, four years later, was still waiting.

She couldn't explain to the children why she seemed sad all the time, why her eyes were constantly red from her tears. She knew that perhaps, she could've spoken to Aziza about it – through her powers that Jasmine realised were quickly making her a young sorceress, she'd stopped managing to make her father appear; no matter how many times Aziza tried, she couldn't pull him away from wherever he was hiding from. And despite her realisation that her father hadn't come back since the night she'd nearly burned down the courtyard – he'd arrived at the last moment to help, as he always had when her ability to use fire managed to grow out of control – she didn't tell her mother about the encounter. It was nothing out of the ordinary, after all.

But his going-away was.

Elsa and Harun could see the heartbreak on their friend's face, but no matter how many times they'd tried to reach out to her, Jasmine would throw a wall up between them, not wishing to talk about her missing dead husband. Elsa had allowed her to wallow in her pain for the first year, but by the first anniversary of Jafar's disappearance, she'd kindly and slowly encouraged Jasmine to meet other men – she was only thirty-one years old, Elsa had argued with her, still young enough to marry again. But Jasmine wouldn't hear of it.

She couldn't hear of it. She couldn't even take off her ring, she would wait for Jafar to return to her. When Elsa had told her that he may never come back, Elsa's heart broke for her friend when Jasmine lowered her eyes to the cold ground and said, "So be it." She couldn't leave this place, couldn't leave where her heart firmly belonged, the very idea of being with anyone else was frightening to Jasmine.

And now, Jasmine realised as she held her letter to her heart, she realised that she may not have a choice.

The letter begged her to come home, screamed at her for help, to come and make things right again, and trapped in a silent world of pain, Jasmine shook her head against those thoughts, her eyes shut tightly to stop the cascade of tears that threatened to fall. And despite herself, she couldn't even pick the reason as to why she was crying – was it over the thought of leaving here and starting anew without him, or was it over the thought of knowing what she would arrive to?

But she knew this much; she had to leave. She couldn't very well hide out in London forever, and she would have to prepare the children to leave – Aziza, who had grown up into the very replica of herself as a young lady, granted with sorcerer powers, wouldn't be all that excited to leave; the younger one, her young Jafar, was still young enough to see this just to be a grand adventure. But Aziza would settle in over time, and the young Jafar would just be excited anyway.

But Jasmine wouldn't be able to show them how cut-up she felt about leaving, if she wanted to encourage her children into the idea. And how could she, how could she tell them that she didn't want to leave in case Jafar didn't find her?

And in her breaking heart, Jasmine wondered if this question was even worth worrying about. Why would he try to find her? He knew exactly where she was now, and yet, he didn't show up. Maybe he wouldn't even care.

And Jasmine didn't care. Even if he showed up tomorrow, either acting like nothing had happened or full of apologies (which, being him, would frighten her), Jasmine wouldn't care. All that would matter is that he would be home, before they left for Agrabah, before he had any difficulty in finding her again.

Jasmine was far too in love with Jafar to care.

*

Sometimes, Leila thought that death simply wasn't fair.

How dare they! After so long of the great masters of the afterlife asking her to keep a watchful eye over her ex-husband, to make sure he didn't run into trouble, now they were asking her to boot him back to earth, to go back to his wife, to make up some crack story to make him return and be himself, rather than a depressed ghost of a man taking his frustrations out on everyone else!

Easier said than done!

Keeping her temper in check before she went to see him, Leila took a deep breath of still air. There was no point in her making both of them angry, she had to speak to Jafar clearly and logically, and hope he was in some sort of mood to talk at all. Despite the attitudes of those upstairs, she saw their point – if Jafar wasn't depressed, then he was furious, and what innocent one happened to be standing in his way when he was angry was usually obliterated.

Jafar was becoming something of a threat in the afterlife, slowly yet successfully wiping out the population of dead people, and frankly, Leila thought it was just cruel dumping him into real life again, just because he would be able to as a sorcerer, especially with his current behaviour. Why make the living pay for his actions?

But maybe he would calm down a little once he returned to Agrabah, or at least, return to how he'd been before, if Jasmine was by his side. And maybe she would be happier, as free-spirited as she'd always been, if Jafar was by her side.

She knew Jasmine was in pain, without him, and the knowledge that Jafar was putting his wife through so much agony wanted to make Leila slap him into his senses. That selfish, inconsiderate bastard. But Leila held back, because the pain that made Jasmine scream in her dreams at night had made Jafar collapse into himself, had made his personality (excluding his bits of explosive anger) listless. She'd seen it in his face, the raw pain he'd only just managed to hide, and heard it in his voice the night he'd came back for the final time, his tone hoarse, "I can't go back."

"What do you mean, you can't go back?" Leila had asked him slowly, not understanding, trying to be the friend she was to him now. The days of being his wife had come and gone completely – she was sure that being the man he had become on Earth, that she might not have remained married to him by now anyway.

"I can't see Jasmine anymore," Jafar replied, sinking against a wall, the stench of smoke from the fire he'd just put out drifting around him.

"Why not?"

"Things have changed."

And that was the only reason Leila had dragged out of him in the four years since. _Things have changed_. Leila, for one, was at a complete loss of what had changed – the depression that the two had fallen into since didn't account for a fight, or an argument, or anything really that would make them avoid each other. And by the confusion Leila felt coming off Jasmine, she knew that Jasmine truly had no idea what had changed, either. Only Jafar knew ,and he wasn't saying anything.

So, if Jafar wasn't opening up, though she hadn't truly expected him to do so by now, and the masters seemed so insistent on getting the sorcerer back to earth, Leila had had to take drastic action. She felt horrified for herself for having done this, having put a spell over the Sultan to cause him to take ill, knowing that he would be on his way to the afterlife himself soon. She knew that it would be a long night with Jasmine, now that she'd received the letter that her father was dying, now that she knew she'd have to return to Agrabah to take over the city. But Leila knew that despite whatever reason Jafar had so stubbornly against going back to earth, that his wife's sure-to-be complete devastation at losing everyone she loved would be enough to melt him, that he would go back and comfort her.

Besides, even if this wasn't enough, then Leila was certain that the knowledge that it would be just Jasmine and Aladdin, with the children, in the palace would be the trick to make Jafar return, though he would be returning more in a blind rage rather than with any protective love for Jasmine.

Leila bit her lip lightly. Maybe there was no need to tell him anything in person, no need to tell him to go back to Earth, if this letter to Jasmine would do the trick. There was nothing to be accomplished by telling him, nothing to gain. It certainly wouldn't make him happy to know that he was about to be thrown out of the afterlife, and it certainly would make him angry if he found out how Leila was making him go back, and what she had done.

So she closed her eyes, and counted slowly until she was fluttering into the breeze, the little cells of her immortal body dancing and merging with air, until she found herself locked in the dark bedroom, lost within Jasmine's dreams. Jasmine would never know she was there, as Jafar had instructed Leila to hide herself, but instead she acted as a guardian for the Queen, keeping an eye on her for Jafar, until Jafar would do so himself.

_

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_TBC_


	3. Wives

**The Small Print's Limitations**

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**Chapter Three**

Rain.

Jasmine kept her eyes closed for several seconds, feeling the raindrops fall down onto her face, sparkling on her eyelashes. The rain wasn't cold, and despite her clothes slowly becoming soaked, she didn't shiver. Instead, she felt comfortable – as if the rain was welcome, cooling her body down, from the hair plastered down on her head to the sand curling under her feet.

She frowned. The sand?

Jasmine opened her eyes, and sighed. And here she thought, that the rain was almost soothing. But there was nothing soothing about this dream, the dream that kept coming back, that became a little bit stranger and stranger each time. It had started with finding herself in the middle of the Arabian desert, under a starry midnight sky, for several minutes at a time. Then, she'd started to see the red lights in the sky, flickering in the horizon, racing across the sandy dunes as a rapid semi-circle, before disappearing onto itself. Then, as of the last time, it had started to rain.

She raised her face towards the sky, feeling the sprinkle of water against her skin. For a moment, despite the increasing feeling that these dreams were leading to something she was dreading, she was calm.

"Father! _Father!"_

Jasmine turned around in surprise, her long hair sticking to her cheeks as she did so. This was new; she had always been alone in this dream before, or at least, she had believed herself to be alone. But now she spotted her daughter running across the wet sand towards her – dressed in a violet harem outfit similar to her old turquoise one, her wavy black hair cascading in a long ponytail down her back.

But as Aziza ran closer, and Jasmine was able to study her face, the gentle pleasure at seeing her daughter fell into concern. The gentle rain ran into the bitter tears on her face, drawing dark tracks of kohl down her face, and she didn't try to push back the strands of hair escaping from her ponytail. She barely acknowledged her mother until she arrived besides her, the dream Aziza not out of breath at all from the run, but then she turned towards Jasmine with such speed, that she was taken aback.

"Please stop him," Aziza begged, her voice a whisper against the wind, and while Jasmine thought that her daughter was speaking to her, she couldn't be quite sure – Aziza appeared to be staring through her at something in the distance, rather than actually at her. "He'll listen to you, I know he will. He only listens to you."

"Who will?" Jasmine questioned, only for her words to fall on deaf ears as Aziza turned away from her, her attention focused back on the distance.

"Father... please don't..." Aziza murmured, her words meant for herself alone, but with a tiny amount of hope, Jasmine looked up to where Aziza was watching.

And her heart skipped a beat.

The man that who she hadn't seen in four years, the man that Jasmine would do anything for if he could only just came home, stood on the horizon with his back to them. He seemed hardly aware of their existence, as the wind and rain picked up his cloak against his shoulders, the black and red fabric bellowing over the sand. As the girls watched with wide eyes, he slowly swung a sword over his head, before pausing, as if he'd only just realised their presence.

Jasmine heard Aziza's breath hitch in her throat as he whispered words that Jasmine thought she'd never hear him say.

_I'm sorry._

And with that, he swung the sword down fast and brutally at something in front of him that they couldn't see, causing Jasmine to wince at the sound of tearing flesh, the strange gasping sound at her husband's feet. Despite herself, she felt tears well up in her eyes, and while she didn't know what she was about to cry at, she knew it wasn't the sight of her husband after so long apart, or the cruel act that he had just committed.

Her tears weren't even for herself.

Wiping a hand tiredly across her eyes, Jasmine forced herself to turn away, to glance over the collapsed form in the sand that was her daughter, too stricken with grief over what her father had done to stand on her own legs. And just a little further over, she had a split second's glance of the edge of a white dress, with a bloody splatter ruining it.

"Leila!"

The flap of the dress froze, as the young woman started arriving into view, and the huddled form of Aziza began to disappear. As she watched her daughter fade away into the atmosphere, Jasmine turned to face the horizon in fear, and her fragile heart began to break as she encountered what she knew she'd see – her husband disappearing into the darkness from wherever he had came.

"He'll be back," said Leila gently, resting her fingernail-less hand on the Queen's shoulder.

"How do you know?" Jasmine asked sadly, watching the small space on the sand where her lover had stood.

"Because he loves you."

The reply was so simple.

Jasmine turned to face Leila slowly, and the dead woman shrunk back a little at the fury on her face, uncertain what she had said to cause Jasmine to become so angry. "He _loves_ me?" Jasmine questioned, her voice undeniably sarcastic. "He's coming back because he loves me? He's been gone for four years, Leila! If he loves me, why hasn't he come home by now?"

Leila was quiet as the echoing of Jasmine's frustration and anger flew around the desert space of her dream, eventually settling. For several moments, Jasmine caught her breath in long, drawn gasps, trying to bury the emotions that were threatening to explode, all towards the one person – frustration, hatred, desperation, and a painful love that consumed her; a love that perhaps he still felt back towards her, though he had an awful strange way of showing it.

Of course, that was no different to how he'd been when he was alive.

"You know him as well as I do," Leila murmured, looking down at their feet – the Queen's, pretty and enclosed in gold slippers, and hers, skin flaking off and covered in blood and dirt. "You know what he's like... his arrogance gets in the way."

"I don't understand," Jasmine whispered to her friend, feeling no ill health towards her husband's first wife, like most women would. This was the only person who could even start to understand how she could love the devil, even if the Jafar that Jasmine had married was very different to the Jafar that Leila had married. "He told me he was coming back... what is he hiding?"

Leila knew exactly what he was hiding, at least, one of his secrets, at any rate. She knew Jafar still believed that Jasmine was better off not knowing how he'd died, even if Leila was convinced that it would give the Queen some sort of closure. But she knew that this was not what Jasmine was referring to, that she simply wanted to know why he hadn't come home to her. To this, even Leila could not provide the answer for – only Jafar knew in that twisted mind of his, and Leila was afraid of what she'd find behind all the shut doors if she went looking for the answer.

So, she could only give the simple, honest answer.

"I don't know," she replied, trying to ignore the crestfallen look that crossed Jasmine's face. "All I know is that he'll be here, and he'll stay, when you need him."

"I've needed him every day for the past four years."

Leila wrapped her arms around Jasmine in a gentle embrace, the body that was exhausted from confusion and tiredness. It was time for Jasmine to go to sleep, and for Leila to return home, to where Jafar would be understandably furious to know that Leila had made herself known in the dream. "It's time to go to sleep now, the children need you, and you need your strength," she whispered, lovingly and sedated, satisfied as she watched Jasmine's eyes close slowly, slipping back into reality. "He'll come, I promise."

_Jafar, you'd better not make a liar out of me._

*

Someday, Aladdin might learn the consequences of his actions.

By murdering the sorcerer, Aladdin hadn't only sent Jasmine into a depression, but the whole of Agrabah had fallen down with her. Razoul could never have admitted it to himself while Jafar was alive, but the city of Agrabah had needed him, and now the city was crumbling without guidance it desperately needed.

The Sultan had refused to select another Royal Vizier – there had been a few before Jafar, ones who had had no idea what they were doing, and anyone else after Jafar was only going to be sub-par. Of course, anyone else after Jafar could only have a more pleasurable personality, but when it came to the job itself, there were big shoes to fill.

So, without a Royal Vizier, the work that Jafar had done to bring prosperity to Agrabah froze, before melting into a mess of the citizens turning their backs on one another. Compared to Jafar, the Sultan had proven that he truly didn't really know how to run his city, and that he didn't have the sources to keep the relative peace that Jafar had built going – the Sultan had simply faded away after the disappearance of his daughter. The return of his grandchildren for a few months had brought some happiness to the palace, but after that, the Sultan had begun to go downhill, collapsing under mental anguish and ill health.

Due to this, there was one shining light – the bedridden Sultan had received a return letter from his daughter, who had finally decided that yes, she would come home, and with the children. It was clear to everyone that she was only doing this because she had to, and not because she had any desire to be there – even Razoul could see that there were too many painful memories in Agrabah for Jasmine, but at the end of the day, she was the Queen, and with Jafar gone and the children not old enough to rule, she was the only one able to take over after the Sultan's certain death.

Besides, it was either her or Aladdin, and the idea of Aladdin ruling Agrabah made Razoul sick to the stomach.

No one could quite believe that Aladdin still lived in the palace; the little ignorant sap living off the royal family for nothing. Razoul was surprised to this day that he had the gall to remain, for he, just like the Sultan and various others who had heard it underground, believed that Aladdin had killed Jafar. Aladdin had never admitted it outwardly, but the Sultan had confided in Razoul that he truly believed that if it wasn't for Aladdin, Jafar would still be ruling. And that Jasmine would still be in Agrabah, and that everyone would be happy. Except Aladdin, but Jasmine had long given up on trying to please everyone.

But hopefully she could please Agrabah, for to say that the city had fallen into unrest was putting things lightly.

It was the unrest that had started with Princess Aziza's birth – an unrest that a furious Jafar had tried to put out; say a bad word against the sorcerer's daughter, and you found yourself buried alive somewhere in the Cave of Wonders, Jafar's dumping ground of bodies. While Razoul could not blame the citizens entirely by being disappointed by another birth of a royal daughter, the second in a row, he could only view them to be stupid – if Jafar had been angry himself over being given a daughter rather than a son, then yes, the citizens could go mad; but Jafar was pleased no matter whether it was a son or daughter. Jasmine and Jafar had been delighted over Aziza's birth – even if Jafar's delightedness was hidden well, it had definitely been there.

And the people of Agrabah, to say it lightly, were not delighted. If anything, their behaviour after Jasmine and her children had left was disturbing. For Aziza's birth, it seemed that every woman in Agrabah was being punished.

It seemed to Razoul that there were several more men now in Agrabah than women, even though the birth rate had not changed. For some, he was certain it was because they had met untimely deaths by the male members of their families, but some, he just had the feeling that they were being locked away, behind closed doors. And even those that were still wandering around free, they dared not to walk the streets after nightfall, if they wanted to be able to go outside and see daybreak again.

And there was nothing that anyone could do about it. You couldn't exactly punish every man in Agrabah, or pick out which ones were in the wrong... and considering that in the depths of his heart, Razoul wasn't quite sure that the men were doing anything wrong by their supposed actions, he couldn't be the one to stop them. The sheep followed each other.

He could only hope that Jasmine would be able to restore some sort of order to Agrabah, a woman who before she'd given the city a daughter, the city had loved. But as Razoul set out to collect her and the children from the dock that they'd be arriving soon at, he could only wish Jasmine a lot of luck.

And very little else.

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_TBC_

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_A/N: Firstly, many apologies for being so late with the third chapter – unfortunately, this story was punished when real life got in the way, and when I hadn't completely worked out where this sequel is headed. But hopefully now chapters will come a bit more quickly than a month, and hopefully you'll enjoy what comes out. And author's notes will now clearly be at the bottom of each chapter._

_Deshwitat, thank you very much for the reminder of the rating! I meant to update it when I loaded chapter two, but clearly it had slipped my mind._

_One small thing – I don't like negative reviews from people who have nothing constructive about my stories to say other than 'I don't like it'. If it's something about the spelling, you don't think the characters would do something that I've had them do etc, by all means, tell me. But if you simply don't like it because you don't like the plot, there are at least another six hundred other Aladdin stories out there to read. You know who you are, and you don't have to read this story if you don't want to._

_For everyone else, my wonderful readers, reviews and lurkers, enjoy, and let me know what you think! _


	4. Memory

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

As he watched the small group of four slowly ascend the stairs into the palace, Aladdin began to break out into a cold sweat – due to fear or excitement, he wasn't entirely sure. Or perhaps it was just out of being nervous; the woman he loved was finally returning home, and it took everything he had not to run down towards the stairs and hug her, desperate not to let her go.

But the fear of rejection stopped him from making a move, rejection that once upon a time, he might've believed could not exist, but after ten long years, he was unsure about, until he could bring her around.

Though in those ten years, absence had made the heart grow fonder.

Aladdin stared down at Jasmine as she climbed the stairs gracefully, every bit the Princess she used to be and every bit the Queen she now was, her head tilted towards Razoul's as he spoke to her in a voice Aladdin couldn't hear. Even from a distance, Jasmine still looked stunning, even if she walked with the slowness of one who appeared not to have slept in a long time. Her body was wrapped in a flowing blue dress, one that covered adequately but kept her skin cool against the heat at the same time, and she wore a matching scarf lightly around her dark hair, seemingly to stop anyone in the city guessing who she might be. But Aladdin could see straight through the disguise – there was only one woman in all of Agrabah who walked and moved and held herself with such poise, the only woman in all of Arabia for him.

In comparison, the two young people who followed her slowly up the stairs appeared as if they did not alone – exhausted and weary, Aziza and the younger Jafar followed their mother towards the palace, looking very uncomfortable in the heat after being raised in the cool temperatures of London. He couldn't make out the pair very well from this distance, but enough to see that they were bickering between themselves over something, and as Jasmine turned to speak to them, he and Razoul spotted each other.

While the expression on Razoul's face never changed, Aladdin watched carefully as the guard's large hand reached slowly towards his sword.

Jasmine was worth more to Aladdin than Razoul's warnings could ever be.

He took off through the palace, running towards the main room as fast as he could, hoping to have a moment alone with his Queen. Admittedly, he had no idea what he would say to her, or what he would do, other than hold her and never let go. There would be no fight for her affections this time, now that Jafar was out of the picture; he had successfully seen to that, and while the guilt of murdering his beloved's husband nipped at him occasionally at times like these, the hope he felt of finally being the one he loved, being able to look after her and help her through her pain, cancelled out any shame he felt.

So focused on finding his love, Aladdin didn't notice that she'd run past him in the palace corridor until it was too late. With her scarf wrapped around one slender hand, her hair flowing free, Jasmine didn't register him as she ran towards her father's rooms. Yes, she was Queen, and there were plenty of pressing matters for her to attend to (though, having never actually ruled herself, she barely knew where she would start), but before she did anything, seeing her father was the most important thing to her right now.

And therefore, Aladdin didn't try to chase her. The understanding that he felt for Jasmine only made his love for her grow stronger. There would be plenty of time to sit with her, to speak with her, to tell her that he still felt the same for her after all these years apart. And there would be plenty of time for her to respond in kind.

A small smile crossed his face as he dreamed about this, the first smile to dare cross his face in a long time.

"Aladdin!"

The smile was gone at the sound of Razoul's voice, and Aladdin turned around nervously. The head of the guards smirked dangerously at him, having realised that Jasmine would've run straight past him without caring, but if the boy wasn't going after the Queen and remaining in his place after all, then he could make himself useful. "I need to go back to the guards, someone needs to keep an eye on the Prince and Princess. Children, Aladdin will be dining with you this evening."

And with that, Razoul walked away, leaving Aladdin staring uncomfortably at an equally uncomfortable Princess Aziza and Prince Jafar.

And despite knowing that he wanted to care for them deeply, being Jasmine's children, there was something flickering in the children's faces that showed that they were Jafar's children as much as they were hers.

*

Apparently, the children had taken after Jafar in personality, also.

Aladdin sat between the very quiet pair during dinner, the children being in no way inclined to talk. Sixteen-year-old Aziza seemed to be lost in a world of her own, picking at her dinner with one leg pulled up in front of her body, letting her long, wavy dark hair tumble over her shoulders, and a matching side-swept fringe shielding her eyes. Ten-year-old Jafar – the name that made Aladdin cringe inwardly each time he thought of it, even if it was the sorcerer's innocent son – didn't seem as closed off as his sister appeared, but seemed to be picking at his dinner simply out of tiredness, and little else.

Aladdin cleared his throat nervously, causing the two to glance up at him. Unsure of what to say but desperate to break the awkward silence, he flickered his gaze up from his plate towards Aziza, and not for the first time did he find himself staring into the Princess' pretty face, the narrow, dark eyes staring up at him under her heavy black fringe. He felt his heart skip a beat as they stared at each other, even if her expression was completely disinterested, though he wasn't sure why he felt this way towards the girl he'd known as a baby (then again, Jafar had known Jasmine as a baby, having arrived at the palace the year she'd been born, and look what had happened there) – perhaps it was just because that in small ways, she resembled Jasmine, rather than him being attracted to Aziza herself. He could only hope that it was the former.

"So, no more 'Uncle Al', Aziza?" Aladdin questioned, his voice playful but cautious as he referenced to the name the Princess had called him as a child.

Aziza allowed a slight smile flicker at the corner of her lips. "You're not really our uncle, Aladdin," she said, brutal and straight to the point, with cold words that could have come out of her father's mouth, but with just enough tact to be her mother's daughter.

And the words cut deep, especially with the sheer difference between the young, sweet Aziza he'd known, and this older, colder Aziza that greeted him now. At one point, they'd been as thick as thieves, and now, she behaved like she barely knew him.

"Besides," she continued, unaware of the emotions running through Aladdin, "It's not as if we will be staying long."

"You know that's not true," the young Jafar quietly piped up from Aladdin's other side, the shy but confident side of the child coming out in his words. "Mother said that we weren't going back to London, that we're all staying here."

"You can stay," Aziza snapped, showing that her tiny level of patience had been inherited from her father as she shoved her chair back, not bothering to push it back in as she walked quickly out of the dining room.

Aladdin and Jafar watched her leave; Aladdin in stunned surprise at the girl's behaviour, but Jafar appeared to be used to this sort of behaviour. "What was that about?" Aladdin questioned.

"Frederick."

Aladdin looked at him for further explanation, and the boy shrugged lightly. "The son of friends' of Mother's in London. She really liked him, but then he married someone else... she's been acting like this since."

Jafar's words were like a dagger plunged into Aladdin's heart, at the idea of history repeating itself. If he had felt offended by Aziza's behaviour before, he could now only sympathise with her, with watching the one she loved marry someone else in front of her. "What did your mother say?" he asked, almost not wanting to ask the question, almost dreading the answer.

"That's that just how life is," the boy replied. "That there's nothing that Aziza can do about it, so she should accept it and move on, and that moving here is a chance to start again."

Exactly what Aladdin would guess Jasmine might say. Except saying to accept it and actually accepting it were completely different things. Jasmine had asked him to accept her marriage to Jafar only months after it had occurred; now, so many years on, Aladdin still wasn't sure that he could accept it – he just wanted a blank slate now to start again, and hoped that now enough time had passed since Jafar's death, that Jasmine would be ready to start again, too.

"Aladdin?"

Jafar's continuing voice snapped Aladdin out of his thoughts, and he looked back down at the boy, realising that while he had the same, unfortunate name of his father, there was nothing more of his father in him personality wise, even if he was a splitting image of a younger version of the old sorcerer. "Jafar?"

"Can you make my mother happy?" the boy asked unexpectedly, catching Aladdin off guard. "She's been depressed a lot lately, she's always crying, or looks like she's going to... can you make her happy again?"

It was a big call.

"I can try," Aladdin responded, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze of a hug. "All I can do is try."

*

"Father?"

Jasmine whispered into the dark bedroom of her father's, her voice uncertain and afraid, feeling very much like a little girl again. The light from a small oil lamp lit up the room dully, and from the doorway, Jasmine could see that the form of her father propped up against pillows, but little elsewhere.

Nervously, she stepped forward towards the bed, and the sight of her father made her heart break.

The Sultan slept a disturbed sleep, the sweat making his bald head shine, and his fever too high to keep his turban on. He appeared to have lost a lot of weight during his illness and gained dark circles under his eyes, his face gaunt – only a shadow of his former, cheery self.

As silently as she could, Jasmine sat on the edge of the bed, very carefully picking up the Sultan's papery hand, his wedding ring loose on his finger. She smiled sadly; her father had never removed his wedding ring after her mother's death, the same as she'd never removed her own after Jafar's death.

The feeling of skin contact made the Sultan's eyes flutter open wearily, and while he couldn't bring himself to gain the energy he needed to smile, just realising that his beautiful daughter was there brought him great comfort. "Jasmine..."

Jasmine's eyes lit up dimly at the sound of her father's voice, but she felt her lip wobble at the sight of him, trying to speak. "I'm here, Father," she whispered, squeezing his hand very lightly. "Do you need anything? Water?"

"No..." the Sultan croaked, then flickered his sight down to the pillows beside him, Jasmine following his gaze. "Lie down next to me."

Jasmine obeyed, never letting go of her father's hand, her watery eyes focused on his gentle face. It relieved her mind a little to see the faintest of smiles cross his lips to have her there, before he closed his eyes once more, collapsing back into sleep.

And despite seeing him in so much pain, knowing that the end was so near, Jasmine found herself to remain almost completely calm, in the absolute different reaction at Jafar's death, and she knew why – this time, she had the chance to say good bye.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who left reviews and sent me private messages for the last chapter; they are always appreciated, especially now since it had been so much time between chapters. And Panda-chan, your message made me laugh out loud, I don't think you could contain your excitement!_

_As always, enjoy (though it's getting a bit depressing) the story, readers, reviewers, and all the lurkers..._


	5. Kiss

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Leila knew that he'd be furious when she came back.

"How could you have let her see you?" he shouted, and Leila wouldn't have been surprised if all of the After Life could hear him carrying on. "Much less have a conversation!"

In a very small part of Leila's heart, she was thrilled to see Jafar so animated again – it had been too long since he had felt something so strongly and outwardly, in a non-destructive manner. Admittedly, she hadn't needed to say anything about being in Jasmine's dream, about revealing herself to the Queen, no matter how accidental it had been. She knew deep down that she'd told him this information, because it would spark something, rather than the depressed, catatonic ally sorry excuse for the sorcerer that he was. Yes, she knew she'd told him partly just to get some life back into the man.

For the most part of Leila's heart, however, she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. The people back on Earth and in Agrabah might put up with his bastard behaviour but she, for one, did not.

"And what was I supposed to do?" she snapped back at him, too annoyed to feel triumphant at the surprise that flashed across his face, at him being taken aback at her standing up to him. "Just walk away? I told you what had happened in the dream; I couldn't just leave her alone, especially after she saw me! And besides," she quieted now, knowing that she was about to shove the dagger into his heart, "if you could be bothered for one measly minute to go see her like you used to, I wouldn't have had to enter her dreams in the first place."

Jafar stared at her, the hurt evident in his eyes despite his efforts to hide it. She knew this was a touchy issue with him for Allah knew what reason, and the dagger had stabbed him deeply. At his turning away from her, his cloak swinging out to protect him, Leila bit her lip lightly, almost wanting to apologise. Even after four years, this emotional Jafar was still strange to her – nowhere near as emotional as a normal person, but it was a far softer side to him that he showed to her rather than anyone else.

Maybe she was just seeing him as she seen him when they had been married, once. True, he'd never been really emotional then either, hardly ever saying that he even loved her (something Leila had watched Jasmine battle for a long time, until he had finally gotten over himself and stopped being a twat for a short period of time), but she couldn't work out whether this was a good change of personality pace for Jafar, or bad – at least you knew where you stood with him when he was being a sarcastic and arrogant piece of work; this emotional Jafar was just plain weird.

Before Leila began to feel truly uncomfortable watching him, an apology on the tip of her tongue, he spoke, his voice calm and quiet. "I can't," he responded. "There would be too many questions."

"What questions? What does it matter?" she asked, frustrated over his useless answer. "Jafar, she needs you, now more than ever."

"She's a big girl, she can look after herself."

"Well, you apparently can't," Leila pointed out, fed up with his behaviour, his selfish attitude, where Jasmine was concerned. "Even if she can look after herself, you need her looking after you, you miserable sod."

Jafar didn't bother responding to that one. Sighing softly, Leila stepped close towards him, ignoring his body language as he tensed up. She placed a hand gently on his upper arm, relieved to not feel him flinch under her touch, and stared up at his face, staring determinedly away from her. "What exactly is the problem, Jafar?" she asked, her voice gentler now. "Is it something that you could've gotten over four years ago, or is there an actual problem?"

He glanced down at her through narrow, opiated eyes – while no one aged in the After Life or could alter their appearance (which gave for some very gruesome sights, and Leila certainly would have at the least cleaned up by now; the constant blood streaming down her legs was very annoying and tended to put others off, not to mention the rest of her), one still looked exactly the same as they'd left Earth; luckily for Jafar, the death had been internally inflicted, and not externally. "The Sultan saw me," he quietly explained. "I can't risk going back; too many people know of me to be dead, I'm lucky my own son never noticed me when I used to watch him. There would be too many questions asked of Jasmine if someone saw me, she doesn't need that. At least Wadi never said anything."

For a moment, there was stunned silence as the ex-married couple stared at each other, Jafar almost not believing that he'd finally admitted the reason why he had failed to return to Earth, and Leila almost not believing the reason.

She let her hand drop from his arm. "Are you serious?"

Jafar glared at her darkly, all his heartfelt emotions gone with her cold question. "Of course I am! Ow! What was that for?" he snapped, rubbing his arm where Leila had punched him, where she'd been touching gently a moment before.

"You're an idiot!" Leila snapped straight back, feeling their energy rise back to that of their argument only minutes ago. "You're holding back because of the chance that someone _might_ see you?!"

"Wadi did!"

"Oh, yes, Jafar, because one person outside of anyone who knew you were coming and going in the six years that you had been returning to earth to see her, saw you. And there were plenty worse people who might've seen you than Wadi!"

Both fell quiet at the Sultan's name in respect. The Sultan's hours were numbered now, it was possible for him to have passed away by now, and the guilt was heavy in Leila's mind for having caused the lovely, energetic man to meet his end. But she'd had simply ran out of options, or at least, she thought she had until she'd managed to pry the truth out of Jafar.

But there was no need to tell Jafar that, as for all he knew, Wadi was simply meeting death due to old age and natural illness. Besides, if she told Jafar, Jasmine might find out, which despite herself, Leila realised that if the despair and frustrated clearly written on his face was anything to go by, could be a real possibility.

And so, she sighed, moving away from him, leaving him standing alone, lost with his thoughts. "Jafar, she needs you, now more than ever. You know you're strong enough now to reincarnate yourself; for being a sorcerer, it was simply a matter of time, you won't need to come back here. She won't care who sees you, and I'm sure you'll both be able to make up some sort of excuse or reason as for your return. Go to her, and stop making both of you so miserable and depressed."

With that, Leila left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

*

The gentle touch on the shoulder woke Jasmine out of her slumber, and her eyes fluttered open slowly to meet the dark room, the unfamiliarity of the room briefly disorientating her. Through tired eyes from lack of sleep and sore eyes from ever constant crying, she glanced around quickly from the plush chair in the corner, the book lying open on the floor, where it had dropped when she'd dozed off.

"My Queen," a voice whispered next to her, and Jasmine looked up to see her father's nurse hovering over her, looking uncertain but sad. "I would sit by his side... I think it's going to be time soon."

Ah, those tears were back.

Jasmine blinked rapidly to shoo them away, pooling up in her eyes and threatening to spill over, whispering her thanks to the nurse in a raspy voice. As the nurse took up her place at the other end of the bedroom, Jasmine uncurled herself from the chair and made her way silently to the Sultan's bed side, kneeling down beside it.

The Sultan had fallen into a coma soon after Jasmine had laid down beside him, at which point she had decided to leave him in the bed in peace. It had been clear to her then that he wasn't doing well, and now, she didn't need the nurse to see that she was about to lose her father – each breath was a struggle, she could hear the shuddering in his lungs. With his face glistening with sweat in the moonlight, Jasmine was painfully reminded of Jafar's final day on Earth, the pair looking so similar in illness during their deaths. But at least the nurse had kept the Sultan as comfortable as she could; Jafar had gone along and made things worse for himself by locking himself in his tower in the middle of a summer's day.

Sighing quietly, and pushing back a sob in memory of both the men, she knelt her head against the corner of the bed, whispering a quiet prayer, hoping that everyone in the Sultan's next world would look after him and treat him with the gentleness he deserved, that he'd always deserved. As she raised her head, her eyes still closed, she took her father's hand.

And froze when she realised that it was a great deal colder than it had been only a couple of hours ago.

Silently, Jasmine raised her head properly, looking up at her father. His chest wasn't moving anymore, his lungs not trying to draw in any more air.

She met the nurse's eyes briefly, who paused before whispering. "I believe he's – "

"I know," Jasmine murmured, before leaning over and giving her deceased father a gentle kiss of good-bye on his forehead.

*

It was some time later when Leila returned to the quarters that she stayed in with Jafar, her heart becoming heavier with every step. She had left a fairly decent amount time for Jafar now to make up his mind, to decide whether he would stay or go, but despite her own pain, she had to return to see how he was doing.

Not that time had any meaning in the After Life, with time freezing to a close – Jafar would return to Earth at the same age of forty-six as when he left before growing older again naturally, effectively narrowing the age gap between himself and Jasmine from twenty-two years down to twelve. But Leila had ceased thinking literally very soon into her time after death, only thinking with her heart, which was becoming more and more worried the closer she became to the quarters.

Iago, flying silently alongside her, dared not to say a word. After living in freedom for a couple of years after his master's death, Iago had eventually reached the end of his natural bird life, and with only knowing one person in the After Life, had joined back up at his master's side. But while it would usually be in the bird to make some sort of wise-crack to Leila about Jafar's attitude, or the fears that Leila faced now, even Iago knew that this was not the time. While her dirty and clumped hair tumbled in front of her face in an effort to hide her emotions, Iago could sense her pain, which would make itself known no matter which decision Jafar had made – either anger, or sadness.

Leila gently pushed open the door, to find an empty room.

She knew what his choice was now, without a doubt.

"Finally... you stupid man," she whispered, her voice strained, and Iago's feathers rose on his back as Leila's filthy face crumpled, the blood beginning to pour from her eyes, as it always did when she began to cry. Without warning, she felt her legs collapse under her, her bones rattling with sudden impact of the fall inside her bag of skin. Through her sobs choking painfully in her chest, she felt Iago calm, and settle himself down on her shoulder, in a rare show of support.

Jasmine would get her second chance with her husband; Leila had had hers, and had blown it. Instead of allowing her feelings to leap to the surface, she'd decided to bury them, and try to be the supportive friend that she could be, despite their own history. She had tried to reason with herself over hypothetical time that she only cared for him because they had once had their marriage, before she'd been snatched away – but now that he was gone, she knew differently.

Only now that he was gone, could Leila admit that she was still in love with the bastard.

*

At first, Jasmine hadn't noticed the movement on her bed behind her.

She was back in her room, the bedroom she had shared with Jafar for eight years, perched on her side of the bed, staring at the transparent curtains floating in the midnight summer breeze. She made no effort to wipe away the tears that curved over her fine cheeks and dripped off her chin, the pain of her father's death liquefied. She had long left the Sultan's room, as the attendants had tended to his body, and she dared not to wake up the children, so exhausted from the trip from London. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to tell and comfort them.

And lost in her grief of her father, she didn't notice the man moving across the bed on his knees towards her, until it was too late – the clasp of a hand over her mouth, pressing down firmly so she wouldn't scream.

But Jasmine, shocked into reality, was sure that she couldn't have screamed against the hand, even if she had had enough energy in her lungs to do so. So as she flung her own hands up to the strong one against her lips, her heart was only half into it, thinking that against the pain of her father's death, anything could happen now and she wouldn't feel a thing.

The hand craned her head back gentle to look up at her attacker, and despite the lack of every other emotion in her body other than sorrow, Jasmine's heart leapt at the familiar sight.

The familiar older face – the narrow eyes, the large nose, the familiar strangely-shaped beard. The cloak and robes of the deepest black and dangerous red. The long, slender figure, the tall body kneeling down behind her.

And then the things about him that only Jasmine noticed, and no one else in Agrabah. Like how warm his hands were, the memory of how those hands were so large that they might only be in one place on her body, yet felt like they were everywhere. And his scent, the woody fragrance mixed in with equal parts of summer sweat and dark desire.

And the smooth, drawling voice, that spoke of both danger and seduction. "Hello, 'mine," Jafar murmured his pet name for her, staring down at his wife's face, his voice surprisingly unsure of itself after so much time away, uncertain as to what she might feel towards him. If she were to be angry towards him, he would completely understand.

But the faint blush across Jasmine's cheeks above his hand, and the softening of her eyes was all he needed.

Jafar gently removed his hand from her face, before pressing his lips against hers softly, with uncharacteristic tenderness. They kissed slowly and uncertainly – the gentle pulls of each other's bottom lips with teeth, tongues slipping into each other's mouths to taste one another again – with all the awkwardness of young teenagers, but after four years apart, neither was sure how the other was going to react, or how the other felt now.

Then Jasmine whimpered against his mouth, and that was all it took for the shy kiss to become something far more deeper and intimate, Jafar pushing her quickly down onto her back and their hands nearly ripping at his robes and her dress, oblivious to everything that had happened, both only desperately seeking comfort.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	6. Lies

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Jasmine soared, her mind disconnected from her body.

She could no longer control how her body reacted, how her limbs stretched and arched with each cell of his skin against hers. She felt through him her fingers against his back, her nails racing paths down his spine, marks that would be painful in the morning, but numb now. Her legs linked tightly around his hips, her toes relaxed when she felt him pull out slightly, only to clench against the back of his thigh when he pushed back inside her, driving her home.

Her eyes fluttered as began to cry his name uncontroably, wanting him to finish before her body could scream for him to stop his continued assault, and at the same time, wanting him to never end. But it was her eyes opening that undid her; the glimpse of his dark eyes watching her, watching every little emotion flicker in her face, determined to bring her to the blink, determined to allow both of them to release.

And release, she did.

Jasmine screamed Jafar's name as her mind shattered into a million pieces, each piece dancing high on endorphins, her body throwing itself up and clutching on to him. Jafar fell back on his knees against the mattress in time to catch her, as she buried her face against his neck. Her hair fell as waterfall around his large hands, his fingers moving over her shaking skin, soothing the muffled sobs against his throat.

Very slowly, her sobs faded, and as he began to let her go, she murmured words that made him clutch her all the tighter. "Please, don't leave me again."

And then there was silence.

*

Aziza felt the warm sun against her face before she even opened her eyes.

The boat rocked gently, curled between the breeze of the wind, and the push of the waves as strong arms pushed the capsule along the lake. She could feel the atmosphere tense as she slowly, without ever opening her eyes, begun to peel the white glove from her cinnamon skin, very lightly pulling on the material at the tip of each finger seductively. She allowed her fingers to stretch against London's summer sky, waving her arm slowly in a semi-circle under she felt the wood in the crook of her arm, and it was only when she felt the clear water encasing her finger tips that she dared to open her eyes, peering over the edge to watch the water swim around her skin.

It was the uncomfortable cough of her companion that made Aziza look up. Twenty-three year old Frederick studied the teenager, sighing with regret inside as he watched the blush take hold against her face. His eyes flashed up towards the three women on the riverbank, watching them carefully, Jasmine's lips a thin line as she studied her daughter, clear from this distance.

But Aziza paid no notice as she watched Frederick's face, the black thick hair and dark Arabic eyes heavy-set against his English white skin. Eight years older than her, she cared nothing for the age difference, having always seen him as a cute boy when she was a child, and now that she was a woman, or so she liked to believe, a handsome man.

And he was hers, of that, she was sure to be destined. Clearly, he couldn't see this yet, as he would refer to her by her surname, something that had surprised her when he'd changed his greeting of her from first to last name. She knew that Frederick secretly liked her more than a friend, but there were too many things standing in their way – she knew that her mother and his mother, Elsa, disapproved of this relationship, and Aziza desired for Claire, the girl who was constantly at Frederick's side, to be out of the picture. He was always besotted by her, when Aziza knew that he ought to be besotted by her – he just couldn't show it yet.

Well, she was done with hiding things. Better to have them out in the open.

Frederick's eyes widened as Aziza pulled herself onto her knees, dirtying her lace dress as she crawled towards him, a wicked smile creeping across her face inside the tumble of dark wavy hair, her hands clutching the sides of the boat to steady herself. "Miss Khalid, what do you think you're doing?" he asked, leaning back from the girl but finding nowhere to go, against the back of the boat.

"You can call me Aziza, if you'd like," she replied, before diving forward to press her lips against his, her eyes closing against the warmth of his mouth.

Her first kiss.

She willed it to be something that would be perfect. She shut off the furious shouts of her mother on the riverbank, demanding for Aziza to stop this behaviour immediately, the gasps of Elsa and Claire at the sight of a teenager throwing herself to the man. But it was far from perfect, because she couldn't block out the lack of feeling of Frederick, the way his lips were frozen, not returning her sweet kiss. Not to mention the sudden grip of his large hands on her slender forearms, pushing her forcibly away from him, and Aziza bit down on her lip – a nervous trait inherited from her mother – at the sight of Frederick's face; his feathers calm, but with dark, furious fire licking in his eyes.

"I think it's best if we go back," Frederick murmured, quickly moving his hands away from Aziza and back down to the oars, pushing the boat far more quickly than Aziza would've liked back to shore. As far as she was concerned, the boat could take all of eternity to return to shore, as she could hear her mother's shouting on the riverbank. But more than anything, Aziza just wanted to leap in the water and submerge herself; she wasn't sure why Frederick had rejected her like this, and cool water would take away the humiliated heat she felt from this strange rejection.

But no, it couldn't be a rejection; maybe she had just picked her timing wrong. It was probably not best to kiss Frederick right in the view of their mothers, and the deluded woman who kept hanging around him. No, Frederick had all the reasons to be annoyed with her, Aziza decided, as a small smile crept onto her face; he would be fine again once they were alone, once she was given the chance to apologise, then she would be able to kiss him again and he could return it, in privacy.

The splashing of the water made Aziza look up towards the shore, and the sight of her mother thrashing through the lake, her hands clutching her dress up to her knees, wiped the smile off her face. Once the boat was near enough, Jasmine allowed her dress to drop onto the water's surface in favour of pulling her daughter out into the water in an undignified fashion.

"What is wrong with you?" Jasmine snapped, her voice quiet in the presence of company but her tone sharp and angry. "Aziza, you are lucky that your father isn't around to witness that – what made you do such a thing?"

Aziza pulled away from Jasmine, eye-to-eye, having inherited her father's height and beginning to tower over her mother. "He wanted me to," she argued, keeping her chin up.

Jasmine sighed, studying her daughter with mixed feelings of frustration and sorrow. Both she and Elsa had seen Aziza's infatuation with Frederick evolve over the last couple of years, and had deemed it just to be a child's crush. But in reality, she should've stepped in by now, and it was too late. "Aziza," Jasmine murmured, trying to brace both herself and Aziza for the bad news, "Frederick doesn't return your feelings. He's engaged to Claire."

Aziza's eyes flickered from her mother to Frederick, who now stood on the bank with his mother and Claire. She couldn't ignore his hand on Claire's waist. "You're lying."

"They are to be married in two weeks."

While her daughter made no movement to show that she'd heard her, Jasmine pulled the light shaw off from around her shoulders and wrapped it around Aziza, before pressing her fingers lightly under her chin. Aziza looked down at her in confusion, and a cough caught in Jasmine's throat as she looked into her daughter's dark eyes, understanding the pain of her first love leaving her. And there would be a second, before long. "Aziza, there will be someone else out there. It's best to move on, there's no point in dragging out the pain. Besides," Jasmine paused and took Aziza's hand, leading her depressed daughter out of the lake, "I have news for both you and Jafar; something that'll allow you to move on."

Aziza wasn't allowed to attend the wedding, Jasmine having deemed it best to stay behind. And besides, there was much packing to do; they would be travelling to Agrabah within days of the wedding.

But Aziza kept the final glimpse of Frederick with her, as Jasmine had lead her into the trees by the lake, of Frederick studying her with no expression. She would carry this last sight of him and this last memory, as nice as it was before she'd kissed him, no matter how much pain it brought her at night. She would have to hold onto it, until it faded away and her heart could move on again. Despite the harshness of her mother's words, she knew Jasmine was right, that there was someone else out there.

But as of right now, lying in her bed in this unfamiliar dark bedroom of the palace, Aziza could feel the pain numbing a little, for based on the flutter in her heart she'd felt leaving the dining room despite her anger, she had the strange feeling that she'd now met that eventual someone else.

*

Jasmine was too afraid to open her eyes in the morning.

In her mind, she couldn't work out if she'd only been asleep for the last couple of hours, or all night. She hoped that it was only the last couple of hours – she had a vague memory of falling asleep, exhausted, as the dim light of day swept into the bedroom. But now, there was silence around her, and she feared opening her eyes to find herself alone.

Jasmine stretched lightly, this bed much larger than the one back in London. The smallest of smiles crossed her face despite the pain that bounced between her hips, settling in the lower pits of her stomach, the feeling uncomfortable but strangely satisfying. It had been awhile that she'd felt this pleasurable ache, and she felt an embarrassed warmth cross her face at the memory.

It felt too good to have been a dream, so Jasmine turned over onto her side and opened her eyes slowly.

And found herself staring at her husband, who stared back at her.

For several moments, neither said anything, preferring to quietly study one another. Jasmine's eyes widened as she watched a pale and genuine smile cross his face. "I like watching you sleep."

"How long did you sleep for?" she asked, her voice tired, unsure what to say to her husband, missing for the past four years.

"I didn't."

Carefully, Jasmine reached out a hand and placed it against Jafar's chest as he watched, making no move to stop her. She frowned slightly at the feel of his skin, warmth and soft under her hand, and she could hear the faint beating of his heart in the silence. As she looked up to his neutral expression, she was overcome with emotion that she had hardly expected to feel if he did return, and each word came out of her mouth seemingly as separate sentences, through clenched teeth.

"How _dare_ you."

Jafar studied his wife, unable to understand what she was frustrated about. "I didn't hear you complaining at the time; I don't recall you saying no," he murmured, his voice smooth and quiet.

Jasmine looked blankly at him, then felt herself blush heavily when she realised what he meant. "Not _that,_" she snapped, pulling herself up onto her knees and bringing a sheet up and around her body, watching him through narrowed eyes as he reclined against the mountain of pillows. "The fact that you suddenly disappeared, with no warning or explanation, for four years, only just to show up now!"

"Ah."

She'd never looked more beautiful to him that when she was furious.

"You said you were coming back!" Jasmine snapped, feeling the salty tears beginning to prickle at the corner of her eyes, but quietly demanding that they were not to fall.

"And at the time, I thought I was," he reasoned, feeling absolutely no trace of anger well up in him in response to her, only feeling two emotions that he was not used to. Love and guilt.

"But you didn't. You left me," she whispered in a cracked voice, turning her face away from him, feeling her fury slowly begin to fade away as a tear ran down her cheek, hoping that he wouldn't see it.

But it was too late – he'd sat up now, and taken her by the shoulders to turn her back around, demanding that she face him. She watched him with wide and glassy eyes, his brute force a reminder of how their relationship once was, him generally angry and her stubbornly arguing. But now it was reversed, with emotions pelting down on them like rain, adding to the confusing mix.

Jafar sighed inwardly at the tears making their way down her face, at his broken wife, knowing that this whole mess was his fault and uncertain of where to even start the explanation, not even knowing if she'd want to hear it. But it was his job to piece her back together again, and he winced inwardly at the words that Leila had once told him - that sometimes, all she wants is comfort.

Damn women, how could they expect to ask that of him, of all men?

"You stupid woman," he whispered, trying to sound sympathetic but the wrong words tumbling out. He closed his eyes and quickly tried again, before Jasmine could argue with him. "Why would I want to leave you?"

Jasmine shrugged in response. Admittedly, she couldn't think of anything, but it didn't change the facts.

"I need you to accept that I couldn't come back, and no, it wasn't because of you. It wasn't anything remotely related to you. But I'm back now, and I'm alive, and I'm not going anywhere."

"What if I don't accept?"

"It wasn't a request."

Despite herself, she felt a small smile crack onto her face at his drawled words, his familiar insufferable and arrogant attitude, his way of posing questions and sentences in that made her think that she had a choice, but in reality, she didn't. "You're not going to tell me why you left, are you?" she asked, bringing her eyes up to meet his, allowing him to draw her close.

Jafar drily pretended to think about this. "One day."

"Tell the truth."

"I won't tell you."

Jasmine sighed, but smiled against him as she felt his mouth against her ear, his beard scratching her neck gently, when he whispered three small words that made the last of her anger melt away, the words that weren't necessarily an end-all fix, but for now, were words that she needed to hear. Words that she had try to drag out of him for months, and now he said it easily to her, and her, easily to him.

*

It was a short time later that Jafar made to leave the bedroom, dressed in his familiar red and black robes, ready to shock Agrabah out of its living daylights. Jasmine had gone ahead to alert the children, so that they weren't surprised when they suddenly found their father sitting at the breakfast table. To stun the city of his return was one thing that he was going to find quite enjoyable, but even for him, it wouldn't be fair to the children to do it to them.

But there was one person that was shocked the moment that Jafar opened the bedroom door, and the sorcerer felt a smug smile of satisfaction leap forward on his face at the sight of the person standing before him, all colour washing quickly out of their face, rendered speechless, their mouth moving but no sound coming out. So Jafar decided to beat him to it.

"Aladdin. Hello, my little murderer."

_TBC_

_

* * *

__A/N: I know it's been awhile since the last update, real life is tending to get in the way quite frequently. I'm hoping to nut out a few more chapters over the next week or so if things go planned, but everything won't be posted up at once, so hopefully there will be some sort of regular chapter updates. _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, lurked and read, your reviews are wonderfully appreciated, and hello to everyone who has come on board with the Agreement stories in the last several weeks!_


	7. Politics

**The Small Print's Limitations**

**

* * *

****Chapter Seven**

To say that Aladdin was surprised by Jafar's appearance was an understatement.

Aladdin was certain that he had killed the sorcerer, years ago. He was sure of it; he had brought the lethal potion, he had watched Jafar drink it unknowingly, Jafar's deceased body had been found in his tower. Even if there was some way that the potion hadn't worked the way it should have, and had only put the sorcerer into a coma of some kind, he should've either died, or have come back by now. And everyone would've known.

But this, Jafar suddenly returning from the dead, was just confusing. This had to be some sort of bad dream – Aladdin had been waiting for Jasmine to appear, to welcome her home, to tell her how much he'd missed her and that he could be by her side. He hadn't wanted to come on too strongly, considering it would be her first day arriving back in Agrabah, but he hoped that he would be relatively high on Jasmine's list, for surely she had missed him as much as he had her.

Jafar was the last person he'd have expected to come out of Jasmine's bedroom. In an ideal state of mind, this did make logical sense – the pair being married, and having shared the bedroom, after all.

But in this ideal state, Jafar was also supposed to be dead.

Jafar shut the bedroom door and learnt against it easily, studying the street rat with a smirk on his lips, as Aladdin tried to gather his wits about him, and it was several moments before the common Agrabah man could look the sorcerer in the eye. "What are you doing here?" Aladdin demanded, his voice sharp, one of accusation.

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow in faint amusement. "I should be asking you that, street boy," Jafar sneered softly, taking calculated steps towards Aladdin, who began to back up against the wall. "Does this mean you have been lurking around the palace this entire time?"

"I am a guest of the royal family," Aladdin remarked, bravely pointing at Jafar with a slightly shaking hand, in a step of defiance.

Jafar reached out and with strength that Aladdin was sure he had not held before his death, snapped his finger.

"It is now my family, and you are no guest of mine," Jafar snapped, ignoring the huddled man at his feet. Aladdin clutched his hand to his chest, and glared up at the sorcerer, pure hate in his eyes, fearing for himself as well as for Jasmine and the children, being within the sadist's grip, and the pain in his heart of knowing that he'd imagined himself with Jasmine had only lasted several hours before it had come crashing down, won out over the pain in his hand. "Get up," the older man muttered, aware that they were out in the open in the palace, "and stop making a pathetic scene of yourself. We will talk in private."

Aladdin watched him walk away, Jafar's cloak brushing over his bowed head, unable to trust himself to get to his feet. "Move _it,_" he heard Jafar hiss, "unless you'd like to have Jasmine find you like this."

Aladdin quickly followed him into a room opposite the bedroom, a disused meeting room.

It was an action he regretted immediately, as he felt himself lifted off his feet, surrounded by a strange red light, and flung with imaginary force to the far wall, where he collapsed on the floor. Through the throbbing of his head and disorientation, he struggled to make out the sorcerer, walking towards him, satisfied with his damaged prey, his steps slow and smooth as a panther's. Aladdin's eyes didn't move as he felt Jafar's fingers burrow into his hair and yank him up into a sitting position painfully, blood pouring out of his mouth and down his chin.

"Now, I don't care as to why you killed me," Jafar whispered dangerously, crouching down to Aladdin's height, his expression deadly calm. "I'm sure that there are multiple reasons, as I have to kill you right now. But I'm not going to, at least for the time being."

Despite the pain searing in his body, Aladdin felt a small sense of relief, and closed his eyes heavily. For the time being, he was safe, he could recuperate, he could tell Jasmine the truth about the demented husband of hers, he could get her and the children out of her safely and alive.

"And besides, killing you would be too easy."

The relief Aladdin felt quickly begun to fade with those words, as he watched Jafar rise back up to his feet, stretching his tall figure in a relaxed fashion, before turning a cheshire cat grin on the boy. "No, I'm sure there are some people who would dearly like to know the truth about my death. Like the citizens of Agrabah. Like the occupants of this palace. Like my children... like my _wife_." Jafar's grin had faded as he spoke, his voice returning to a hissed whisper, his expression settling into that of any man attempting to protect his family.

And his expression froze as they heard soft footsteps outside the door, echoing on the marble floor.

"Jafar?" they heard Jasmine call, her voice enquiring. There was the soft sound of the bedroom door sweeping open, and moments later, shutting gently again. "Jafar? Where are you?"

Aladdin took breath to yell, as hoarsely as he could, only for the pain to intensify as he felt Jafar's foot shoved against his mouth, pushing him back into silence, choking quietly on the dust on the bottom of his shoe. After a moment, they heard Jasmine sigh in frustration, before quick footsteps walking away, her voice calling the sorcerer's name grow fainter until they couldn't hear her anymore.

Jafar carefully removed his foot from against Aladdin's mouth, and stared down at the boy with deadly calm, still crumpled on the floor. "You have a month in which to tell her; the children and the others will find out in their own good time once she knows. I will kill you either way, of course, but this punishment seems so much more fitting first."

With that, Aladdin watched as his enemy walked away, quietly opening the door and moving out of sight, shutting the door firmly behind him. The pain of admitting to his beloved that he'd killed someone didn't yet get the chance to sink in, before darkness took over.

*

In the fading sunlight of what had felt to be an abnormally long day, Jafar, standing on a balcony watching his city, was a lone silhouette.

His cloak flapped lightly in the breeze behind him, his hands were calm and relaxed on the rail. The meeting with his children couldn't have gone better – him and Jasmine had decided it best to be upfront in regards to his return; Aziza, being a future sorceress herself, would understand. He'd had both children stare at him strangely when he had first walked into the room, but the spell was broken as Aziza had rushed towards him; despite the heartache she'd felt arriving in Agrabah, she was excited to see her father once again, in the flesh now, and not just a mirage to help her put out the fires that she'd started. The pair had regarded each other at arms' length, neither one to embrace, but Jafar was silently pleased to see that his young daughter had grown to be a stunning young woman, equally as beautiful as her mother.

The younger Jafar was more hesitant to greet his father, which was only understandable as the pair had never actually met, but as his son stared up at the imposing man in wonder, Jafar was blown away as to how much the boy resembled him at the same age. The pair didn't speak to one another, but the boy had followed his father around the palace in interest for the majority of the day, until only minutes ago, when Jafar had advised gently for him to join his mother, as he had a meeting to attend to. There would be plenty of time to get to know his boy, but Jafar was impressed with him so far.

The clear of a throat behind the sorcerer announced whom he wished to speak, and when Jafar nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement, he heard the heavy footsteps behind him.

"It is good to have you home, Jafar. And the Queen, as well."

"Thank you, Razoul," he replied sincerely, as Razoul came to a stop next to him, resting his large arms on the rail.

The head of the guards was the only one Jafar trusted in the palace to give a review of all that had happened in Agrabah over the past ten years; he was the only one whom he knew closely that had been there for that length of time. The only other person who knew being Aladdin, and with a faint sneer on his face, Jafar hoped that the boy was currently not in a position to tell him news, even if he'd requested him to do so.

For a few minutes, the men made small chit-chat, briefly covering what had happened in the city, before Jafar approached the subject that had been bothering him as he'd studied the rooftops of Agrabah, alone. "Razoul, what has happened?" he questioned, his tone curious. "There used to be people crowding the streets, now there's hardly anyone."

Razoul swallowed tightly, briefly wondering how to respond to his leader. "Do you remember that certain people had to go missing after Aziza's birth?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Of course."

"Well... if we put these people away now, those who had complained, there would be no citizens left in Agrabah. At all."

Jafar turned his gaze sharply on the guard, and Razoul stepped away slightly, hearing the growl in the sorcerer's throat. "What are they saying about my daughter?" he asked, his tone now dangerously low.

Razoul sighed. "It's not about her, exactly... the women of the city are being, if you call, punished, for another princess being born. And it's not just here; it's beginning to spread through Arabia."

Jafar frowned. This was quite strange news, with the citizens gaining an attitude that he wouldn't have expected from them. "How is it their fault? There has been a son born since then."

"The prince's birth doesn't change matters."

There was quiet for several minutes, as Razoul wondered how to explain further, and as Jafar struggled to comprehend the idea of an entire city being seemingly punished for no good reason. Finally, Razoul sighed once more, and leant closer to the taller man, his voice dropping, in case anyone dared to interrupt by walking out onto the balcony. "The women don't come out much now from their homes; their husbands and sons are keeping them locked inside for their own protection. I do not allow my wives or daughters to... I advise them to stay off the streets, for safety. I highly suggest you keep your own behind the palace walls, also."

"I will decide what is best for Jasmine and Aziza," Jafar drawled lightly, and Razoul bowed his head in acknowledgement, but glanced out of the corner of his eye as the sorcerer's hand clenched on the rail. "This is ridiculous; what is their reasoning?"

"Our faith."

"I wasn't aware that the Qur'an advised us to keep women locked inside their houses like animals," Jafar remarked, his voice dangerous, and he turned to face the guard, his expression unreadable, but making Razoul feel like he was being studied, with Jafar wondering what his actions were personally.

Razoul broke the gaze, uncomfortable. "I find it difficult to argue with their reasoning."

"Clearly."

"But it's for the right reasons. It's best to keep them safe. I would also suggest having the Queen and Princess staying away from the Sultan's funeral tomorrow; you know how women can react... irrationally at funerals, but of course, I leave that decision to you." And with that, Razoul walked away.

Jafar remained standing on the balcony on his own once more, for a short time, twirling his beard around his fingers. It was only when he heard Jasmine call for him faintly, inside the palace, that he turned and walked inside, lost in thought and consideration.

_TBC_

_

* * *

__A/N: Mad Madame, I think the person you're thinking of as 'someone else' for Aziza might be right..._


	8. Twilight

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"Here, you get his feet, I'll get his head."

"What happened to him?"

"How should I know? Come on, hurry up."

Aladdin dared to open his eyes as he felt slender hands slip under his arms, and then the soft grunt of a person above him, as he was lifted slightly off the ground. Hecould feel his ankles being lifted by much smaller hands, a weaker person; his feet kept finding the ground again as the person's hands slipped continuously.

He'd almost opened his eyes when the person at his head had pulled him into a sitting position, and his hand hit the floor, the broken finger falling ungraciously, the pain of contact shooting up his arm, causing him to shout in agony. Quickly, he felt his body being placed on the floor again, and felt the scurry of feet around him.

"Oh, he's broken his hand... rip your shirt, I'll bandage it up."

Aladdin winced in pain as his hand was picked up, and his finger tightly bound to the others, being held as still as possible. It did not lessen the pain in the hand, but at least it could not be moved freely.

"I think that'll be better now."

The hands were under his arms once again, and he was back shifting into a sitting position. He could feel the front of one's legs behind him, and gingerly, he rested his head back, the fabric of the pants much softer and gentler than the cold ground.

"He's too heavy for me."

A sigh from above him. "Alright, you go keep watch while I drag him."

"Keep watch for what?"

"Are you an idiot? Whoever did this to Aladdin is probably going to come back; we need to be out of here by then."

Aladdin sighed to himself as he felt his body being dragged, the muscles in his arms crying out in pain as he was pulled along, but not daring to complain; there were few places that he could be taken to right now worse than here. With effort, he opened his eyes slightly, to look up at his saviour.

Long dark hair brushed against his face, but he knew at a glance that it wasn't Jasmine's; the hair was too wavy to be hers, and the voice too young. As the figure looked down at him, Jafar's dark eyes peered down from behind a long fringe, and Aladdin felt his breath snap shut in his throat for a moment, before he realised that the eyes were set in a female face.

He reached up and grasped her wrist, squeezing gently, before allowing his eyes to fall shut once more. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, his throat arching sore, before finding himself lost in the world of unconsciousness again.

Aziza smiled gently down at the man that she struggled to hold up. "You're welcome."

*

The second time that Aladdin woke up, he was in a far more comfortable place.

He could feel the balmy summer heat against his face, the gentle wind against his body from the curtains flapping in the breeze. It felt several degrees cooler than it was during the daytime, and through the soft candlelight flickering in front of his eyelids, he assumed it was therefore, evening.

The pillows and mattress felt soft under his body, cradling him gently, and he was grateful for the light blanket covering him; despite the fact that it was not needed in the heat, it helped him feel more secure. Carefully, deeming himself safe for the time being, Aladdin opened his eyes.

He found himself in a little-used guest room, but the room seemed to be as comfortable as his own, decked out in shades of green and cream. His hand felt a little better, still tightly wrapped under the blanket, and while he knew that his hand wouldn't look the same again, always looking deformed with thanks to the sadist, it would repair itself over time.

The sound of a quiet cough caught Aladdin's attention, and he looked over the side of the bed, to see two small, gold satin covered feet propped up on the edge.

Aziza appeared not to have noticed him yet, sitting comfortably in a chair by his side, a large book open against her knees. He could only see the dark black hair on the top of her head, and he moved himself slightly in the bed, attempting to make himself known to her.

"Hey," he whispered hoarsely, his throat arching from the fight with Jafar.

Aziza looked up over the edge of her book, smiled, and closed it. The simple act of placing the book on the bedside table gave Aladdin a few moments to study his rescuer – she was not the classic Arabian beauty that her mother was, with her father's dark eyes taking up a good portion of her face, but her black hair was long, wavy and silky; the darkness of it sucking in the candlelight. But her body was all her mother's, and the small, hourglass figure was encased in a light bedlah outfit with flowing pants, in material of a fine purple.

As she pulled back from the table, Aziza's eyes met Aladdin's, and a faint blush crept over her face as she realised that he had been watching her. "Are you feeling better?" she asked, her voice quiet and slightly embarrassed.

"A little," he responded, his eyes focused on her face. "Who helped you bring me in here?"

"Jafar found you," she replied easily, and an alarm bell rang in Aladdin's head at the sorcerer's name, until he realised that she was referring to her brother, and that she wouldn't refer to her father by his name. "Then he found me, and we brought you in here." She frowned briefly, studying the room around them. "Unfortunately, I don't think this is your room, but it was the closest unoccupied bedroom we could find."

"That's fine," he said quickly, wanting to put the Princess at ease.

Aziza frowned, her eyes darting back to him, and she asked a question that Aladdin had dreaded. "You're pretty beaten up; who did this to you?"

For the first time in his life, Aladdin found himself actually defending Jafar.

"I'm not sure," he replied slowly, lying through his teeth. "All I can remember is walking into the room; I can't remember who was there, or anything that happened, until you found me."

Aziza frowned lightly at this simple lie, but she nodded briefly, her sympathy for the man clear on her face, and Aladdin hoped the guilt was not clear on his own.

He wondered why he couldn't find himself able to tell Aziza the truth, that it was her father that had attacked him, leaving for him for apparent death, without a care in the world. It wasn't like Jafar needed to be defended, and in his lie, Aladdin wondered if he was doing precisely that, and in defending the sorcerer, did that make him as cold-hearted as the older man?

But at a glance of the innocence on Aziza's face, Aladdin realised who he was defending.

It wasn't Jafar. Jafar could suffer for his actions, and Aladdin wouldn't care; in fact, he would look forward to the day in sheer delight. No, he was defending the children, and to a smaller degree, their mother. Aziza and her brother were innocent victims in Jafar's twisted game against him, for reasons he couldn't fully comprehend – the sorcerer had deserved his death, and the very idea of him having returned nearly made Aladdin clench his teeth together in deep frustration.

But Jafar's undeserved anger towards him, and Aladdin's brutal receiving of the sadist's attack was not the children's fault, and Aladdin had to protect them as such – they'd only just met their father again, and Aladdin didn't think that it was fair to them to advise them that their father was a murderer. They would learn of the horrors at his hands sooner or later, and Aladdin wouldn't be the one to advise them; no, their mother could do that.

His stomach clenched in on itself at the thought of Jasmine, the love in his heart that Aladdin felt beginning to blacken. Surely ten years had been long enough now for her to move on, but no, as soon as that arrogant prick of a man had walked back through the door, she'd fallen at his feet. He'd tried to rescue her once, by doing her a favour that he'd never been thanked for, and she'd had had the chance to be with him. And she'd blown it.

The hand that had wrapped itself around his heart squeezed hard, and despite the love that he felt for Jasmine, Aladdin was at the end of his rope, trying to work out how to save her, when she clearly seemed to think that she didn't need saving. Well, fine with him. If Jasmine wanted to act like Jafar's personal puppet again, then she could go right ahead; as far as Aladdin was concerned, Jasmine had dug her grave, and she could lie in it.

With this knowledge, Aladdin knew that there was no way that he would tell Jasmine that he'd killed Jafar – he owed them nothing. At this rate, Jasmine would most likely believe Jafar over anything Aladdin said; it would sound all the worse coming from her own husband.

The rustle of fabric next to him made Aladdin look up, and he felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of Aziza leaning over him, her eyes gentle, mistaking his emotion pain for physical pain. And he had no words as she leant down and pressed her lips lightly against his, her eyes remaining opened, darkening with emotion that Aladdin didn't understand.

"Feel better soon," she murmured, and slowly and silently, walked away, leaving him lost to uncomfortable thoughts.

*

As Jafar's eyes raked over the hundreds of people in attendance at the Sultan's funeral, he realised that Razoul had not been joking when he'd spoken of the women of Agrabah being locked away.

In fact, it seemed that the only women in attendance were his own.

If he had taken Razoul seriously, Jafar might've had a second thought in allowing Aziza attend, but he knew there was no way that he could stop Jasmine from attending her father's funeral – that even if he did hide her away, that she would find some way of showing up anyway. Though they had spent the last ten years part, Jafar knew that Jasmine could be just as cunning and manipulative as he was.

But in all fairness, she was not herself at the moment, and her husband's return was not enough to cancel out the private pain she felt at her father's death. So despite his better judgement, he'd hypnotised her so that she could attend the funeral without falling apart, something that he hadn't done to her since they had married. To be fair, Jafar had asked if she'd preferred that he hypnotise her, and dully, she'd agreed, on the condition that she would be immediately released from his mind-control once the funeral was over.

And so, he'd put her under his spell, and he kept her close to him as the funeral proceeded, her hair wrapped under a hijab, her face an expression of complete blankness, his hand resting against her lower back being the single sign of public affection between them. But as his gaze flickered across to his daughter on his other side, Jafar rather wished that he'd hypnotised her, as well.

He hoped that he was the only one to notice that Aziza seemed unable to remove her eyes from the street rat, standing with the other common folk, _away _from his family. Aladdin looked rather worse for wear, much to Jafar's satisfaction, but he was frustrated to see him at the funeral, where he didn't belong, and his daughter's obvious interest in the boy unnerved him.

As if feeling her father's disapproval, Aziza pulled her eyes away from Aladdin and stared up at him, her eyes defiant.

"Stop staring at Aladdin," Jafar hissed under his breath, attempting to remain quiet enough to avoid attracting attention, "and get a grip on yourself."

Aziza raised an eyebrow at him from under her hijab. "I'm not staring."

"You're making it obvious to everyone; you _will _behave yourself!" He snapped in a low voice, his daughter's clear lie beginning to ruffle his feathers.

Far from looking embarrassed at her father's scolding, a flicker of faint amusement passed across her features. "You've been away for ten years," she replied, her tone smug, "You can't come in and just tell me what to do."

"I am your father!"

Jafar's raised voice had caused those nearby to turn, surprised to hear what was becoming an argument between the sorcerer and the princess in public. Jasmine failed to glance at them, with Jafar desperately trying to keep the bickering out of her mind, but their quiet son had turned to face his father from the other side of Jasmine in interest, clutching his mother's hand tightly. With a slight shake of his head, Jafar watched as the curious boy glanced at him, before returning to the funeral at large, his hand squeezing Jasmine's just a little bit tighter.

But as he watched his son turn away, Jafar felt Razoul move behind him, the guard's voice low in the sorcerer's ear: "I did warn you not to bring them out of the palace," he murmured. "Women cannot behave themselves."

Though he frowned at Razoul's words, Jafar couldn't help but agree with him, at least when it came to his daughter, at least at this time. Knowing that her father wasn't going to continue the argument in public, Aziza simply gave him a slight smile, before allowing her eyes to wander across the crowd, falling on Aladdin once more, under her father's disapproval.

And while Jafar eventually turned away from his daughter, bringing himself mentally back to the funeral, the gentle summer day slowly faded into a blue twilight, he knew that he would have to do something about this undesirable... relationship of his daughter, and the little thorn in his side of a street rat.

_

* * *

__TBC_


	9. Sixteen

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Nervously, Aziza twisted her fingers in her lap, her gaze steady on her closed bedroom door, as she waited.

She'd asked to speak with her mother tonight, the only person she could trust with her burden, the only person who might be able to understand. Her brother could not possibly understand, and her father... well, he'd made his feelings rather clear on the subject at the funeral the previous day.

She felt her blood begin to boil in the heat, her cheeks darkening with embarrassment. She was sixteen now, she was a woman who could make up her own mind and choose what she wanted, and how dare he just waltz in, after years of being away, and tell her who she could see and how she ought to behave. Aziza wasn't sure what his problem was, and she most definitely wasn't about to ask him, if he was just furious with the man for some absurd reason, or if the idea of any other man at all in Aziza's life frustrated him.

Well, sorry, _Daddy_, Aziza thought cruelly, but I'm all grown up now.

And yet, when she stood as the door between her parents' chambers and hers opened, she could not explain as to why her legs appeared to struggle in holding her upright.

Jasmine frowned as she walked into Aziza's room, at the pained look on her daughter's face. Aziza's behaviour had hopelessly confused her at the evening meal, which had been Jasmine's one and only meal of the day – it had taken some time to sleep off the disturbing hypnosis, and she only had vague memories of the funeral. But she couldn't understand the sheer, open hostility that Aziza had shown towards Jafar, or the way Jafar seemed to become more agitated with each cold look or snap comment that Aziza made towards him, ending with her husband stalking from the room, a mutter under his breath about how ridiculous the situation was.

Let alone Aziza's desperate plea to speak with her before bed, and now with curiosity she met her daughter, surprised by the sudden fear in Aziza's eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Jasmine asked slowly, sitting down amongst pillows, her red silk nightgown gathered around her body.

Aziza looked down at her mother, her brown eyes wide with concern, her dark hair flowing around her face. Having her father back had made Jasmine look as young and carefree as she had when Aziza was a child, even with the Sultan's death. And she could only hope that her mother would take the news more easily that she could only imagine her father would.

"Mother..." Aziza began slowly, making herself comfortable besides her, "I've moved on from Frederick."

Instantly Jasmine's face relaxed, as she smiled. "Oh, good."

"I've met someone else."

Aziza couldn't miss the fading of Jasmine's smile.

"What, here in Agrabah?"

Aziza couldn't find her voice, her eyes darting from her mother and down to her lap, beginning to twist her fingers together again.

"Aziza, you've only been here for a matter of days, and only in the palace. Who could you have possibly met in that time?"

There were several moments of silence as a blush began to cross Aziza's face, and she could still not look up at her mother, as she found her voice to be no higher than a whisper. "It's Aladdin," she murmured, closing her eyes against her shyness.

"... I see," she heard her mother reply, her voice just as quiet as her own. "Aziza, I don't think it's such a good idea..."

Aziza raised her head as her mother's small protest, her eyes darkening as she studied her. Her mother looked more nervous about it than angry – she could tell the way Jasmine pulled her lip under her teeth – but her reaction had made her realise that it wasn't the fact that Aziza liked someone that annoyed her father; it Aladdin himself.

And clearly, her mother was none too impressed either.

"It's not like I'm not happy for you," Jasmine explained gently, but Aziza could still hear the disapproval in her voice. "But I don't think Aladdin is a good idea..."

Jasmine trailed off, as she wondered what reasons she could give to Aziza as to why she shouldn't pursue Aladdin that weren't for her daughter's knowledge, or that were completely hypocritical. Aziza had no clue as to the role Aladdin had played in the strange love triangle that had happened when she was Aziza's age; all she had told the children was that she had been pushed into marriage with Jafar, which was true. And she couldn't use an excuse such as Aladdin being too old for her; the age gap between Aziza and Aladdin was smaller than it was technically between herself and Jafar, if only by two years.

And then Aziza sighed, and muttered a line that nearly caused Jasmine's jaw to drop. "Father didn't think so, either."

"You told your father? About Aladdin?" Jasmine questioned, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. She could only imagine how badly that conversation could've gone, and was faintly surprised to see that Aziza was still here to tell the tale. At least, it would explain the silent fury between the pair at dinner.

"Not exactly," Aziza admitted. "He saw me staring at him during the funeral; I think he might've guessed that I love Aladdin..."

"Aziza, you do not love him!" Jasmine snapped, her voice more frustrated than she hoped it would sound. "You're infatuated with him. You're sixteen; you've not loved any man before. It took me over a year after marriage to love your father."

"I get the point, Mother," Aziza mumbled, her cheeks flaming under her mother's fair accusations. But then she raised her eyes to face Jasmine, and both sighed as they looked at each other, at both their separate memories of Aladdin. "Mother... please, don't tell Father. He'll kill me."

"I wish I could say that that was an exaggeration," Jasmine murmured, but that's not what she seemed uncomfortable over. "Aziza, I don't know if I can... and he has a way of finding out these sorts of things..."

"Mother, I need you to help me."

"It might just be easier to tell him now, it'll be less ugly than if he finds out later..."

It was more of a choice between severe pain, and death. For both her daughter and Aladdin.

But Aziza looked so lost, and the mother in Jasmine was winning out. It wouldn't hurt too much to keep it from Jafar for a little while, until at least Aziza came to her senses. And hopefully that would be soon, so Jafar wouldn't ever need to know. Quietly, and to Aziza's surprise, Jasmine leaned forward and kissed her sweet daughter on the cheek, with a sad smile on her lips. "I won't tell him, for now. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Not looking back, Jasmine walked quickly through Aziza's room, into her own and shut the door tightly behind her, thankful that the bedroom was in darkness, so her facial expressions couldn't give her away.

"What did she want?" came his drawled voice from the direction of a small couch, a tone that despite the small sense of fear that Jasmine felt in keeping such a secret from her husband, still managed to admit a thrilling shiver that ran down her spine.

She watched Jafar carefully as she walked towards him, the marble cool under her feet. He was still fully dressed in comparison to her small robe, and he studied her with a small frown on his lips, the small amount of light from the moon and stars outside highlighting half his face, and keeping the other half in the dark.

And with even keeping eye contact, Jasmine realised that she could lie to him, to save her daughter. "She apologies for her behaviour at dinner, towards you," she replied, running her hand along the back and side of the couch as she went to sit beside him, tucking her legs under herself.

"Hmm..." he murmured, unsure if he believed her. He rather doubted that Aziza would ever apologise for liking that street urchin.

"Forgive her already," Jasmine sighed, mistaking his meaning, and rested her head lightly against his shoulder. Watching the midnight sky through the lightly fluttering curtains, she rolled her eyes mentally at the slight tensing of his arm, against her touch. "She's just a teenager; you remember how I was at sixteen."

"Do I ever," he replied, with a faint purr in his voice, as he studied his wife, from her black hair waving around her shoulders, to the slight gap between her skin and the bust of the robe, down to the tie that held the silk together around her body.

Despite her disturbed mood, Jasmine allowed herself to smile. "Not now," she warned, and carefully, allowing him plenty of time to draw back if he wanted, she held his finger and pulled his arm around her shoulders, entwining her small fingers between his long and slender ones, as they watched the heavy darkness.

Jafar never let her hand go; if anything, she could've sworn he held her closer.

* * *

Leila felt as if she was walking towards her death, again.

She didn't think time could feel longer, but it had. It felt as if it had been an eternity since Jafar had left, and that was an especially long time in a place that didn't count days, months or years. For ten human years he had been beside her, in this empty space, keeping her company. And now, he was gone, back to his wife and Queen.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

She could've told him that Jasmine could deal with things on her own, agreed with him that yes, Jasmine was a big girl who had to learn to cope on her own. But no. She'd told him that Jasmine needed him as much as he needed her, and that he needed to be by her side. And so, she'd cursed herself when she was sadly surprised to see him gone.

She had ten human years to tell Jafar that she still loved him; at least, she loved the small part of him that was still there, from when _she_ had been his wife, when they had been teenagers themselves and married – him just of seventeen, and her, only fourteen. Even Iago had casually mentioned that she should say something, as it was obvious from the way she looked at the sorcerer with her blood-filled eyes. But look at her; a mess of dirt, blood and ripped clothes; and him, perfection.

Pity about his personality.

Iago, for one, had become more and more concerned for Leila – her tears were continually flowing now, staining her skin crimson, and she seemed lost since Jafar had left. Becoming more and more withdrawn into herself, Iago was sure that if she wasn't already dead, she would be tempted to attempt suicide.

And so, he had whispered in the ears of the masters, and Leila was now about to meet with them, on their special request.

"Leila," they called gently, and she looked up at them, her eyes blinded in red. "Do you miss him?"

She slowly nodded.

"We could let you return."

Her eyes widened at the hopeful suggestion, and beside her, she could sense Iago's surprise. "You'd... you'd let me go back?"

"Of course, if it would make you happy."

For the first time in a long, Leila felt a nearly tooth-less smile take over her dirty face, but it began to fade as she took in the masters' plan. "Naturally, we can't just drop you into the palace... you will become another wife to a man who has close ties to him, and you will need to find your own path to Jafar."

"What if I want to come back?"

"Then you may do so at any time. But we won't let you go back to Earth again. Think about it wisely before coming back."

Leila frowned at the words, but then, she shut her eyes and nodded slightly.

Before Iago's eyes, she faded from view, until there was nothing left but a bloody puddle where she had stood.

For several moments, there was silence.

"What have we done?" one master questioned. "We know that he's dedicated to his new wife."

"Then maybe Leila needs to see it to understand."

_TBC_

* * *

_A/N: And my hiatus on this story ends (finally), apologies to everyone for the delay, but real life and trying to plot this sequel out rather takes away from time spent actually writing it. Hope you all enjoy, despite my sporadic updates! _


	10. Men

**The Small Print's Limitations**

**Chapter Ten**

Jasmine frowned in frustration the following morning, despite the clear, summer's day around her. Quietly, she leaned against a column in the shade, just out of view of the two people sitting at the fountain's edge.

For once, the sound of her daughter's laughter, which usually brought warmth to her heart, made Jasmine want to shake Aziza to her senses.

Aladdin and Aziza sat side-by-side, their backs to her. Aladdin seemed to nearly be doubled-over, clutching something to his chest, but neither seemed bothered by his strange position, and whatever Aladdin was telling her, Aziza found it amusing.

Overly amusing, Jasmine thought, placing a finger to her lips. Only as funny as a love-sick teenager would find her crush.

She wanted to be happy for her daughter, she truly did. And if it had only been any other man, then Jasmine could've given her blessings to Aziza, quite comfortably, pleased that she had been able to be with someone out of her own accord, that she could choose who she wanted to love. For that, Jasmine would be thrilled for her daughter, and would hope that nothing could stand in her way.

Unlike herself.

Despite the love she held for her husband, it was one of the few dark horses that Jasmine held towards Jafar within their relationship, something that she never dared discuss; the other being the first few weeks of their marriage, which she couldn't remember clearly no matter how hard she tried. Just watching the pair now, she could easily visualise it to be herself and Aladdin, and couldn't help but wonder how things might've gone, if she hadn't practically proposed to Jafar (because clearly, it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference anyway).

In the end, it wasn't completely important – Jasmine knew that if she remained living in her past, she would just become depressed, and besides, she knew she loved the man; the time that they had been forced to spend apart had proven that to her. But it didn't stop her from wishing that the beginning had been different, though she knew it was something she couldn't change.

But she could change it for someone else.

Jasmine looked up at she heard footsteps, and spotted Aziza walking towards her, the sunlight bouncing off her smooth skin. There were no words between them as her daughter slipped into the cool palace, but she held Aziza's stare for a moment, before the princess' gaze flicked back down to the pale floor, unsure of herself, and unsure of her mother. Sighing, Jasmine pushed herself off the column and walked towards the lone figure of Aladdin, and coughed lightly.

Aladdin's gaze, which had been focused on the injured hand held against his chest, looked up as Jasmine's shadow fell across him, and he raised his other hand up to his eyes, to shield the sun from the goddess above him. "Hey," he greeted her, smiling at her despite the pain in his face.

"Hi," came her quiet reply, not meeting his smile as she took in his injuries, and sighing inwardly as she realised who had attacked him. "What happened to you?" she asked, studying the broken finger, which was slowly beginning to heal awkwardly.

Aladdin coloured, and swallowed nervously. "It was just an accident."

"What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything!" Aladdin heard himself snap, unable to control himself against her accusations. "Your sadist of a bastard husband attacked – "

"I don't want to hear it," she sighed in frustration, pressing an elegant hand to her face.

There was a moment of silence as both pulled themselves together, before Jasmine sighed and sat down beside him, resting her chin in her hand, studying his face quietly. "I've missed you," she finally said, her words simple and true.

He reached out to catch a length of hair that had fallen out of its low ponytail, and tucked it behind her ear. "I've missed you too, Jas," he replied in a gentler voice, not noticing that as he moved towards her, she leaned back slightly.

"I've noticed you've been spending time with Aziza."

"She's a sweet girl."

"I want you to leave her alone."

Aladdin looked at her in surprise at her blunt comment, and winced inwardly at the cold, honest glare in her eyes. "Jas, she's followed me."

"She doesn't know what she wants, she's just a teenager," Jasmine snapped, her voice higher than she hoped, and silently wished for Jafar's talent of keeping his voice under control. "She's my daughter – are you wanting to give Jafar a reason to kill you?"

Aladdin felt the blood drain out of his face at her question, and for quite a different reason than what Jasmine meant. The knowledge that Jafar was expecting him to tell her the truth had been something that lurked in the back of his mind, but to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure what was supposed to be accomplished by it – the truth would only depress Jasmine for certain; the sadist only ever had his best interests at heart. Where was the point in telling her?

Maybe it would just be easier for Jafar to tell her, he was just as fault as himself. There was no point in getting it out in the open, everyone had moved on by now.

"Besides," Jasmine continued, unaware of Aladdin's internal questions, "I can only assume you see Aziza as a replacement for me."

Aladdin looked at her in surprise, as she stood up, at her accusations. "Jas... I don't..."

"Prove it," she replied, simply, and walked away, not looking back at him.

Several silent minutes went by, leaving Aladdin sitting uncomfortably with his thoughts, until he felt an uncontrollable urge to look behind him. He tried to fight it for some time, watching the hazy red atmosphere surround him, knowing who was behind it, but eventually, it was too painful to avoid.

Turning and looking up, he spotted Jafar at his tower window, almost directly above the courtyard. The men studied each other for a moment, both of their expressions guarded against their quiet thoughts, until slowly, Aladdin shook his head.

_No. I won't tell her._

Aladdin found himself holding his breath, waiting to see the sorcerer's response, waiting for the pain... only to be left confused when the red light evaporated, and Jafar walked away and out of sight.

* * *

The other women had warned her that it was easier to play dead. That if she tried and fought him, then she would physically be ten times worse, with bruises and beatings to show for it. But if she just played dead, just lay on her back and let him have his fun, then it wouldn't be _so_ bad.

In Leila's eyes, Razoul made Jafar look like a saint.

She had been frightened by Jafar's actions, once, when he had taken Jasmine on their honeymoon. It had been torturous and at times, sickening, to watch, and Jasmine had absolutely no memory of the entire two weeks, which was most likely all in all a good thing. But she had to give him a little credit – he'd never tried to hit or beat his new wife during it; Leila doubted that such a thought would've even entered his mind. Besides, she had been his lover also, and knew that while he could be brutal, he would never hurt either one of them with the intention of just causing pure pain.

Leila had known that such men were out there. There were women who came into the After Life, for whom, death was a relief.

She just wouldn't have guessed that she might be one of them.

Being dragged down the bed by her ankles, she tried to kick out at Razoul, but he simply sneered at her, the way he had when he'd realised how young Leila was. His other two wives had offered her a small smile, a collection of five children between them, all male. But she had been soon told that he'd taken her as a new bride to replace the last one. She'd given him a daughter, and neither were breathing now.

An ill-timed kick to Razoul's stomach ended with his fist connecting with her stomach, making Leila gasp for air, tears springing to her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She was afraid, but she would not cry.

_Jafar. _He would be worth this, this would be worth it in the end, Leila thought in mental anguish as she shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the feeling of Razoul's large hand pushing her legs apart, the rustling sounds as he positioned himself over her, the degrading words out of his mouth and his hot breath against her face.

And it was the blinding, horrendous pain of him taking her that caused Leila to scream, and send her over the edge into a mental escape.

She found her escaping the past, into the home that she had shared with Jafar. It was, as per usual, another hot day, but the slight wind made the sheer curtains in their bedroom flutter, allowing cool air to fall on her skin.

Slowly, Leila moved towards the balcony. The sound of the peoples' protest was beginning to increase, now that the army was beginning to stop them, and she placed her hand over her growing stomach protectively. She was four months into her pregnancy now; a small miracle, considering out of the three pregnancies she had had, this was the furthest to progress. Despite never showing it, she knew Jafar was as pleased as she was, and he promised to leave the army when the baby was born – she knew she could trust his word.

Quietly, Leila wondered if he'd been even more pleased if he knew that this was the third pregnancy; he firmly believed that this was the first, having no reason to doubt it, and Leila refused to give him a reason at all.

She had lost both babies within days of finding out the good news, both times before she had had the chance to tell him she'd been pregnant in the first place, and she had been horrified at the second time – she'd wondered if something was wrong with her, and for that one, she was ecstatic that this pregnancy had managed to make it into the fourth month. The death of her two young darlings was something she'd decided to keep to herself – Leila knew she should tell him, but after awhile, time was stopping her, for too much time had passed.

No, he needn't know; she just needed to keep this baby safe.

"Come away from there!"

Leila jumped, never having heard the door open or shut, and she spun to face her husband, stalking towards her, reaching out to close the shutters on the window, an attempt to block out the citizens of the city. He glared at her in the semi-darkness, not a glare of hate, but a glare of fear.

Studying the twenty-one year old Jafar, Leila knew that if Jasmine had passed him in the streets, when he was that age, the Queen would never have recognised him. He was clean-shaven, making him actually look his age rather than several years older, and his dark eyes burned into hers from underneath his thick, wavy black hair – genetics would eventually let him down there. Dressed in the green and white uniform of the army, this Jafar was nearly another person from the Jafar that Jasmine was married to, but the personality was still similar.

"Don't go out there," he warned, his voice frustrated from finding his wife so close to the brutal action outside. "I know you always want to see what's going on, but going out in the crowd is just suicidal."

"I wasn't going to go out," she replied, staring up at his face; he'd had always been so tall.

Jafar looked at her doubtfully. "I know you," he replied, his voice quiet. "You are the very definition of curiosity."

"As long as you're with me, I'll keep _us_ safe," Leila promised, and stepped towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist, thankful for the fact that despite her stomach, he was so thin that she could still cuddle him. "I love you," she murmured into his chest, and smiled to herself at the lack of verbal response from him, and at the feeling of his slender fingers in her hair. He would always show what he was too uncomfortable to say.

But neither could know then that he wouldn't be able to stay home the next day, or that curiosity would be so overwhelming that despite her baby, Leila would step out into the crowds anyway.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Glad you all liked the last chapter, I re-wrote the scene between Jafar and Jasmine twice and definitely pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoyed this one, I think it may be the darkest chapter yet._


	11. Deal

**The Small Print's Limitations**

**Chapter Eleven**

Several nights later, Aladdin waited.

And he was becoming quite frustrated. It was approaching the middle of winter in Agrabah, and despite the never-ending heat of the day, the evenings dropped to temperatures that were far below what he could handle. In the smallest part of his mind he couldn't help but think that he'd been okay with the winter nights when he'd been out in the streets, but that had been years ago – the palace was his life now.

Which he could continue, when the sadist excuse of a sorcerer finally showed up to their meeting.

Aladdin felt as if he'd been pacing around the fountain in the courtyard for hours, becoming more and more frustrated, both with Jafar and himself. He knew he should've known better that when Jafar had given a flippant 'yes' to Aladdin's request of a meeting at midnight in the courtyard, that he wouldn't have followed through with his promise. The man had not lifted a finger to do anything nice for Aladdin since he'd showed up at the palace all those years ago as Prince Ali – he wasn't sure why he'd expected the sorcerer to suddenly do so now.

On his hundredth lap around the fountain, he'd just about decided to give up when the doors suddenly opened into the courtyard, the area flooding with light from the palace for moments, Jafar's figure briefly outlined in the light, before he slammed the doors shut again, stalking towards Aladdin like a cat.

"This better be good," he warned, his voice low in case anyone heard them, as he could only assume that if Aladdin had called for a meeting in the middle of the night, then no one was to know.

Aladdin did not consider this. "What took you so long?" he snapped back, in a louder voice than was appropriate. "You were supposed to meet me here hours ago!"

"I was busy."

"With what?"

"My wife."

Even in the darkness, Aladdin could see the smug smile cross the older man's face, and he shuddered inwardly, feeling his blood boil, as it did when hints were dropped about how the sorcerer was treating Jasmine. But he had to calm now, he had to make Jafar agree with his idea.

"Get to the point, boy," Jafar continued, the smugness gone from his face and annoyance quickly replacing.

"I want to talk about her, about Jasmine," Aladdin said without hesitation, forcing himself to look up into Jafar's carefully guarded face.

"What about her?"

"I can't tell her," Aladdin replied simply, holding the older man's stare with his own. "I can't do it."

Jafar studied him carefully, his face remaining guarded. "I'm afraid you haven't a choice; either you tell her, or I do."

"You can't, either." The sorcerer opened his mouth to speak, but the former street urchin beat him to it. "If you care about her at all, that is."

The two men stared at each other for several moments, Aladdin watching with nerves as Jafar's eyes flickered in the dark, the sorcerer clearly struggling with thoughts but unwilling to let his face reflect any inner turmoil. "Where are you going with this, rat?" he finally asked, his voice wavering with curiosity and uncertainly.

"She'll hate me if I tell her I killed you, which is what you want," Aladdin pointed out. "However, she'll also hate you for lying to her, and not telling her the truth. And we both know that she doesn't like being lied to... what matters more to you? Jasmine, or getting rid of me?"

Jafar opened his mouth to speak, then paused, hesitating. This, if it came from anyone else, was a no-brainer of a question – his wife, his Queen, came first. She was the one he'd came back from the Afterlife for, and it felt surreal to him that the little girl he had known, the one that had slammed him in the knees with his staff when she grew angry, and the hot-blooded teenager that he had initially married, was the one who held his life now; without her, there would be little point in staying on Earth, if it weren't for their children.

Despite his demeanour, despite his attitudes, despite their raving arguments, Jasmine was his entire world. And despite never saying it, he had the strong suspicion that she already knew.

But this was the boy.

Jafar wasn't entirely sure what annoyed Aladdin more – the false idea that he had no feelings for Jasmine, that he didn't care for her at all and was only keeping her apart from her 'childhood' romance; or the truth. Though he couldn't help but remember so many years ago when they had returned from their year aboard, and he'd told Aladdin that the boy wasn't happy whether he was polite and caring towards Jasmine or not – apparently, Aladdin wouldn't happy as long as Jafar remained in the picture.

That was obvious.

But despite all of this, he'd already hurt Jasmine too much, whether the actions of doing so were his fault or not. And as far as he could help it, the sorcerer would not hurt his queen any more than he already had.

With his decision made, Jafar could speak, and as he did, he found himself doing what he'd never imagined doing – he extended his hand towards Aladdin: "I think she matters more to both of us," he said, half-sincere. "She will not know of this, we won't tell her. Am I making myself clear?"

Aladdin stared at Jafar's hand with a mixture of disgust on his face, as if it was about to leap out of the sorcerer's sleeve and bite him. But he was right – the urchin's friend, the sorcerer's wife, meant more to both. "Absolutely," he replied, reaching out to clasp Jafar's hand however briefly, but unable to nudge the idea that he was making a pact with the devil.

As the pair walked away back into the palace, with counted seconds between them, Leila watched them go from up in a tree above them. She had to wipe the tears away from her face, the bloody tears that were one of the few things that had not been changed when she converted to human form.

Her husband was so close, and yet so far.

She stared at her fingers in the moonlight in disgust, and licking them, she moved them quickly over her cheeks, attempting to remain to look as human as she could. With that, she swung herself out of the tree and landed on her feet as quietly as a cat, her body screaming from the results of Razoul's brutal assault and rape the previous evening, and began creeping her way towards the palace, keeping watch on any guards who might be looking.

* * *

The following day, the young Prince Jafar sat on the very top of the stairs to the palace, his chin his hands.

He'd never been so bored in his short life.

When he had been growing up, his mother rarely spoke of life in Agrabah, but when she did, the stories of the palace had amazed her son. It seemed incredible that half a world away, there was such a place, and while his mother didn't speak of it favourably, his sister did, recalling all the times as a very young child that she'd run around the palace, finding all the unexplored rooms, the only child in a palace full of adults. But his mother spoke of being cooped up inside the palace, and the total lack of freedom.

Now, living in the palace that his mother had grown up in, and his sister had spent her early years in, the young Jafar understood why.

Back in London, there was completely freedom. His mother didn't mind if he ran down the stairs of their country house nosily; here, she warned him to be quiet. His mother didn't mind if he left books and toys scattered all over his bedroom; here, both his parents requested him to put things away, his mother requesting more kindly than his father. No one minded if he left the house, walked across the field, through the forest, back across the next field and knocked on Elsa's door; here, no one minded if he walked out into the courtyard, because all he'd come to was more wall, keeping him trapped.

This seemed to be the closest the boy could come to being outside the palace – sitting on the top step so he could stare out over the city, the city that his father ruled over. He'd already asked his parents if he could go out into the city, and had met with quick disappointment from both of them. The idea of Aladdin taking him had had his father saying that "_he _will never take my children anywhere, again," and storming out of the room; the glare had been evident on his mother's face for several moments before it cleared and she'd embraced her son, apologising and explaining that it wasn't safe out there, that he needed to stay within the palace walls.

This, the young Jafar thought, would be fine, if there was anything to do. He sighed again.

"Bored, are we?" spoke up his sister behind him, in perfect English.

"A little," he replied, also in English, as Aziza sat down beside him.

The pair had learnt that if they spoke in English, they could hold a conversation that wouldn't be understood by anyone, outside of their parents. Their father could speak it fluently and their mother had become quite well spoken in it after living abroad for so long, but while in Agrabah, both preferred to speak in Arabic – their children were the reverse. Both could understand Arabic fairly well, but after having lived in London for years, both were used to English, and had quickly worked out that here, it was turning out to be their secret language.

"I don't understand why we just can't go out there," Jafar whinged now, waving a hand over the city. "Mother says it's dangerous, but I think she's just siding with Father."

"I got to go out there, as a child," Aziza mused, pulling her hair away from the sides of her face, her usually wavy hair becoming curled in the heat.

Her brother looked at her in interest, his dark eyes bright. "You never told me that," he replied, interested in her experience.

"Aladdin took me; Mother and Father didn't know," she said, the memory not a practically fond one, though the first hours had been exciting. "It was a little... scary," she finished, remembering the shouting that had followed when she'd been found, the only time their father had come close to striking one of his children for disobeying him – as a teenager, she knew that the fury had been partly that, and partly fear.

But now, she was nearly an adult. And, she thought with a small smile, if she didn't ask them for their permission, then she technically wasn't going against their rules. "You know," she started, a coy smile on her face. "We could just go into the city; I'll take you."

Jafar looked at her, surprised, but with childish excitement taking hold slowly. "But we're both not allowed to go," he pointed out.

"I'm an adult now," Aziza said proudly, the arrogance that had been passed down to her from her father taking hold. "They can't treat me like a child, I make my own decisions. Come on then," she continued, standing up and beginning to walk down the long flight of stairs.

He stood up also, but was far more hesitant. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Aziza?" he called, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "Surely... we could just ask Mother if – "

"Do you want to go, or not?" she snapped back, again having to move her hair away from her sweaty face, fed up with the heat and with people asking too many questions.

With that, Jafar made up his mind, and quickly followed his sister down the stairs, both glancing around every so often to make sure they weren't being spotted. Once at the gates, Aziza hesitated, then reached up to open the doors, beginning to pull them open, allowing the siblings their freedom.

And then came the commanding voice.

"Hold it right there, you two!"

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: I've updated. I'm shocked, too. Thanks everyone for your reviews, I know it's been awhile._


	12. Submission

**The Small Print's Limitations**

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* * *

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**Chapter Twelve**

The long, thin hand in the black sleeve shot out over Aziza's head and slammed the door shut in front of them. "I believe I said no to going out into the city," warned their father's voice.

Aziza swore under her breath, then exchanging a look, both siblings slowly turned around to face him.

Jafar looked down at his children, his face and voice calm, but inside he was less than impressed. He'd slowly been making his way down the stairs with a furious Razoul, when he'd glanced up and spotted his children simply opening up the gate to the palace to make their way out, as if they wouldn't be noticed. While he had not discussed this with Aziza, whom he deemed old enough to use common sense, he had specifically said no to his son. Though admittedly, from their personalities, he had a feeling that his son was not the ring leader in this operation.

He tapped his staff against the ground to get their attention, and while his son looked nervously up at him, his daughter continued to stare at her feet. "I said no, didn't I?" Jafar re-affirmed, watching his son shuffle from one foot to another.

"Yes, Father."

"So why did you disobey me?"

"I..." The young Jafar glanced at his sister, but she was of little help. "I just wanted to see what was out there; I was bored." Bravely, he looked up at his father straight in the eye. "I am sorry, Father. I won't do it again."

Jafar studied his son for a moment, and felt part of his initial anger fade away. From what he'd seen, his son seemed to be a good, intelligent behaved child. He trusted his son's word, unlike his older sister's.

"I believe you," he replied, his voice calm. "Go to your mother."

In a flash, the young Jafar was past his father and making his way up the stairs once more.

With his leaving, Jafar and Razoul turned to face the Princess, who hadn't lifted her gaze from the ground. "Princess, I don't believe it wise for a young lady to leave the palace," Razoul said, attempting to swallow his fury towards his new wife's disappearance. He'd only just warned Jafar about letting women out of his sight – the moment they weren't, they'd turn their tail and run. He had to make his wife and daughter submit, he let them have too much freedom; he himself should've been tougher on that little new wife of his, _Leila the whore_, he thought silently.

Aziza didn't answer him – she simply untied her hair, shook it out, then slowly and carefully re-tied it. "Well?" questioned Razoul.

Then she looked up, and a small, calculating smile twisted her lips, raising an eyebrow. "Well, what?" she questioned, a note of authority in her voice. "I'm a Princess; who are you to speak to me without being spoken to first?"

Razoul's mouth fell open at her sharp words, unimpressed that a woman would speak to him so rudely, while Jafar's face coloured with annoyance. "Aziza, this is Razoul, the head of my guards," he explained, trying to keep his customary calm. Then he decided to change subjects. "Do you have a good reason for going into the city?"

"Not really, no," she replied easily_, _turning his raised eyebrow to her father.

About halfway up the stairs, the young Jafar ran into his mother. Jasmine had spotted the small group as she'd walked past the open doors – she'd learnt quite some time ago that seeing Aziza at the centre of such a group was never a good thing. Cautiously, she began to walk towards them, and knelt down at her son's level. "What's going on down there?" she asked him softly.

"Aziza's in trouble with Father," he replied, and then nearly ran up the stairs. Frowning, she continued towards them.

Jafar clenched his fist at his side. This arrogant daughter was not the same sweet little girl he'd had had to leave behind years ago, and while he wasn't certain about the beliefs that Razoul held, he had little patience for Aziza's obvious disregard for him. "Aziza, as your father, I forbid to you to walk out those gates," he snapped, unable to remain completely calm.

To the men's surprise, she laughed at him. "As my _father_?" she said, amused in the face of fury. "How can you call yourself that? You've been away for so long; you have no right to tell me what to do as my father!"

Jafar snapped. "I will not be spoken to like that!" he shouted, Aziza barely flinching at his voice. "Hold your tongue!"

Aziza wisely didn't say a word, but smirked at him.

Razoul glanced at her, and then faced his boss. "Your majesty," he warned in a low voice, but loud enough for the sarcastic Princess to hear. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. This is what happens when you allow women to slip out from under your thumb – they have this ridiculous thinking that they can say or do whatever they want, not what they are ordered to do; they need to be punished into submission, especially this one," he ended sharply, his gaze falling back upon the Princess.

"Punished into submission? What sort of world is this?" she cried, disgusted, her blood curling at his words. "I will not be forced into submission by anyone; I am an adult and will be treated as such!"

"Then act like one!"

"What is going on here?" Jasmine demanded, appearing at her husband's side, glaring up at him. "The whole palace can hear you shouting at one another."

Razoul couldn't help himself; he rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. Another woman."

Jasmine's glare shot from her husband to the guard. "What is that supposed to mean?" she warned, before looking back up at her husband. "Jafar, what is going on?"

"I'll tell you, Mother," Aziza piped up, her tone taking on a dangerous quality. "These two," she waved a hand, indicating both Jafar and Razoul, "seem to think that we women should be locked away and only do what they say, that we should submit to their every whim. Well, I won't. And I know that the man that I love wouldn't make me do such things, Aladdin wouldn't dream of it – yes Father, it's true," she baited, smirking at him. "And I told Mother – she knows all about it."

In an instant, Jafar rounded on his wife, the fury evident on his face. Jasmine looked at her daughter in shock, horrified that she would betray her when the secret had been her idea, before looking at her husband nervously. "Is this true?" he asked in a harsh whisper, wanting to not believe that she would hide such a thing.

Slowly, and slightly, Jasmine nodded.

"And _you_!" their daughter carried on to her father, gaining both of their attention away from each other. "Father, or so you like to think, you can't even face up to telling Mother the real reason why you left! Just because grandfather saw you, you thought that the chance of someone seeing you was more important than your own wife, and you couldn't even be bothered to work up the courage to tell her, you just left her fending for herself, what sort of man are you – "

The strike of Jafar's hand against Aziza's face happened so quickly, no one was sure it had happened.

Slowly, Aziza raised her head, the harsh red hand print quickly coming up against her tanned skin. She pressed her hand against her burning cheek, and after glancing up at her father through the shimmering tears from the pain, she pushed between her parents without another word, half running up the stairs through the heat. And moments later, in a slower walk, the men followed, Jafar breathing heavily.

Leaving Jasmine alone, shocked.

And fearful.

* * *

The fear was still evident inside her as Jasmine found herself on the other side of the closed doors to their bedchamber.

She had decided it best to avoid her husband for the rest of the afternoon and early evening, but as the night wore on, she knew she would eventually have to face him. She couldn't shake the fear that surrounded her about his anger – he'd never hit their children and she hadn't thought he ever would; she'd managed to stop him the one and only other time he'd gone to strike Aziza, telling him that she was only child, and the poor thing had been petrified. But while she somewhat believed that her daughter had deserved it this time, she remained fearful as she knew her husband's anger was not only directed at his children, but also at her.

Jasmine swallowed hard and adjusted the white robe around her, hiding the black silk negligee she worn underneath, hoping to seduce the anger out of him. But despite this, she half hoped that he wouldn't be there, and that she could go to sleep in peace.

Opening the doors, she found that luck had deserted her.

Jafar turned at the sound of the doors opening, his eyes narrowing at he watched his wife shut them behind her. He knew that Aziza had feelings for the street urchin; that was not what bothered him. No, it was that his wife knew also, clearly more than he did, and had held this information deliberately back from him. What was she waiting for, a moment where he might feel better about the news?

She, of all people, should've known that there would never be a right time.

"How could you not have told me?"

Jasmine deliberately didn't answer him for several moments, the dangerous tone in his voice making her shudder inwardly. Slowly, she slipped off the white robe and hooked it over a bed post, then walked towards him, unable to bring her eyes to meet his face. She pressed her hands against his chest, fingers slowly curling around the fabric of his robes. "Aziza told me it in confidence," she replied quietly, then raised her eyes to look at him, pressing her hand against his jaw. "Jafar, I – "

"You should have told me this; you are my wife," he snapped, pulling away from her grasp.

She glared up at him, but wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feel vulnerable. "What about you?" she asked, her own anger beginning to warm due to his treatment of her. "You decided just not to come back to me because Father saw you? What sort of excuse is that?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you!" Jafar snapped back, turning on her, barely registering what she wore.

Jasmine looked at him in bewilderment at his words, and then felt the heat in her face. Storming towards where he stood next to the bed, she grasped his wrist within her hand. "Only moments ago you told me I had to tell you, yet you don't need to explain to me!" she snapped at him, unable to understand why he'd seemed to go back to his old self. "I'm more than just your _wife_; it goes both ways!"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? It does!"

Jafar's hand snapped around her own, and before Jasmine could move, he had her on her back against the mattress, his shadow covering her. He ignored the wince of pain across her face, feeling her skin burn under his fingers. "I've already had my daughter act against me today; I do not need this from you," he hissed, his grip becoming tighter. "I do not need to answer to you, Jasmine. You are my wife and you will do as I say."

She stared up at him through her tears from the pain, feeling the very real fear that she hadn't felt since she was sixteen, amongst her confusion. This was not the Jafar she'd known in almost all of their marriage, and she didn't like what he was becoming.

And then she remember Razoul's attitude towards her, and she narrowed her eyes up at her husband. "This isn't you!" she whispered in a harsh voice, "Get a grip on yourself, Jafar! What has Razoul being saying to you, what ideas has he been putting into your head?"

Jafar leaned down over her, pushing his knee between her own. "What I should've known from the start – you need to submit to me!"

"I will _never_!"

The next few moments raced by so quickly that neither knew who had struck out first – whether it had been the strike to Jasmine's face, or whether she had shot up and kicked Jafar in the crotch. But after things became clear, Jafar felt his stomach clench as he stared down at the crumpled figure of Jasmine on the floor, her hair falling as a thick curtain around her face.

Slowly, he reached out to help her up. "'mine..."

Before he said anything else, she slapped his hand away.

Jasmine quietly wiped the tears that had fallen away from her face, but could not lift her chin yet, she did not want to look at him. "I don't know who you are, or what you've been told," she murmured, just loud enough for Jafar to hear her, "but I won't put up with this."

"'mine, I – "

"Shut up!"

Standing, Jasmine shook her hair back, making sure Jafar noted the redness across her cheek. Quickly, she took her robe and threw it back around her body, refusing to look at him – she wasn't sure what she would do if she did. "Do not speak to me," she warned, her voice shaking. "Anything you say now is pointless; you can't make things better. I don't care what you've been told, but I will not do as you say, and I will not be treated as some slave under you."

She stormed towards the doors, never looking back at him, and relieved that she felt no motion from him to follow. "I am not some sixteen year old little Princess anymore," she warned, her voice continuing to shake, and she knew she had to leave before it broke on her, "and if you're going to act like this, I don't want you around – go back to whatever hell you've come from."

With that, Jasmine threw the doors open and slammed them back shut behind her, leaving Jafar sitting by himself on the edge of the bed, in cold silence.

* * *

_TBC_


	13. Recognition

**The Small Print's Limitations**

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* * *

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**Chapter Thirteen**

Jasmine wasn't sure how she escaped back to her childhood room without being detected.

She didn't pass anyone on the lengthy half-walk, half-run between the room she shared with Jafar, and the room she had had growing up, before she'd been ripped out of childhood and thrown into an adult world. There were no servants about, there was no one she knew about, and for what she was most thankful for, her children weren't about. She wouldn't have known where to start her explanations.

It was only when she'd slammed the doors shut to the room, safe from harm, that she allowed the tears to cascade down her face. It took several minutes for Jasmine to remember how to breathe, and when she did so, it was in deep, shuddering gulps of air. Her dark eyes searched the high ceiling, light sparkling through her tears, and licking her dry lips as she calmed, she walked over to her day bed and sat down.

For several moments, her thoughts were not on her sadistic husband. No, Jasmine was briefly relieved that she had a place to call her own, her sanctuary – he had his tower; she had her bedroom. On her request, nothing in her room had changed, everything staying the same as when she was sixteen, remaining innocent. This was her place to flee to when things became too difficult to handle.

It was the idea that after all these years, that after what she thought was progress, was that she had had to flee from Jafar, made Jasmine's tears fall again.

Jasmine wasn't entirely sure if she blamed Razoul for Jafar's actions, for implanting ideas into his head. It was true that she didn't particularly like Razoul – she had always been semi-fearful of him back in the day, and she was less than impressed by the whispers that he had fed Jafar during the argument with Aziza. But Jafar was his own person; he'd never been very influenced by anyone else's decisions or thoughts, and Jasmine couldn't imagine why he'd be influenced now. He simply wouldn't be.

Which made the only other explanation all the more real, and all the more frightening.

Jasmine shivered as her tears began to dry. She remembered her first vivid memory of being intimate with him, the choice of going along willingly or rape, and choosing the decision that she could live with herself with, rather than make an already bad situation worse. She remembered her life beforehand, constant arguments with him, arguments that only began to die down slowly after months and years of marriage, that had been almost non-existent during their stay in London. Their little, stubborn disagreements didn't count – a full blown fight such as this counted.

And they'd only had these fights in the beginning.

She wasn't sure what had eventually calmed Jafar. She'd always liked to think that over time, he had fallen in love with her as she had with him; maybe she had gotten under his skin too deeply, maybe becoming a father had mellowed him out just a little (though today it had had no effect). But what if – and the idea of this made the tears begin to prickle at Jasmine's eyes once more – just what if, his real personality had just lay dormant for all that time.

What if he truly was the evil, arrogant, cold man she'd always viewed him to be as a child? Then for all this time, Aladdin would've been right about him.

What if their relationship – the building of trust, respect and friendship that she'd nurtured her husband over the years, a task more difficult than gaining blood from a store – had to begin all over again?

Jasmine wasn't sure if she had the strength to do that, no matter how much she loved him. And she had no one to pull the necessary strength from.

But she was far from alone. She knew that there were plenty of women in Agrabah that were trapped in the same situation that she wasn't sure if she found herself in – at a submissive mercy to their sadistic husbands (Razoul, she could only assume, was one of those men). And despite Jafar's lengths to keep it from her, Jasmine knew Aziza's birth had something to do with this attitude, though she believed that the men only had only used her birth as an excuse for their behaviour, and that the birth had not caused it entirely. But those women had a light at the end of the tunnel – eventually, their husbands would die.

As hers had. But, unlike hers, they tended not to return from the dead.

Lying back on the bed, Jasmine stared at the ceiling, her face tear-stained but calm. She didn't have to decide what to do tonight, and agonising over the whys behind Jafar's actions made her heart ache, both for him and against him. But she realised that if he had changed, then so had she.

What had happened tonight was similar to his first attack to her in bed, and Jasmine was almost certain that if she hadn't defended himself, then tonight might've gone down a similar path. But the years on her own with two children – away from her husband and away from the suffocating world that was their culture – had shown Jasmine that she could be independent and strong, if she chose to be.

This thought and realisation made the smallest of small smiles cross the Queen's face briefly. Jasmine was right in what she'd told Jafar – she wasn't a sixteen year old little girl anymore; she was a thirty-four year old woman, whether Jafar liked it or not. If her assumptions about her husband were true, then his wife had changed too – she was her own self now, not the submissive and frightened girl that he'd left behind in death. She'd spent the first twenty-four years of her life being second to a man – first her father and then her husband – and now she'd experienced pure freedom. If Jafar thought she was the same girl he'd left, he was going to be mistaken.

_I have to be independent and strong_, she thought to herself, her hand gently resting on her stomach.

Her unborn child depended on her to be.

* * *

She had had to wait for the better part of the day, but now that Jasmine had walked into the courtyard alone, Leila knew that she had her chance.

Leila still continued to walk in mild pain and still showed bruises from Razoul's attack, and she knew that she had to act quickly before she looked alright again – no one would believe her word against his if she didn't have the battle wounds to prove it; the harshest of men still wouldn't believe that Razoul had done anything wrong even with the scars. But she knew Jafar would not be so cold.

It was him where Leila faced a problem with her plan. She couldn't just show up in front of Jafar and terrify him out of his wits, at least, not alone. No, she had to be cunning about this, and who better to go than Jasmine?

Leila's neck ached from the dark bruises around it as she craned up from behind a bush, watching as Jasmine walked to the edge of the fountain and sat with a sigh. Swallowing tightly with some effort, Leila began to walk towards her.

"My Queen?" she asked, and Jasmine turned around.

This was a crucial moment.

Leila wasn't entirely sure if Jasmine would recognise her from her old dreams or not. She hadn't appeared to Jasmine since the night before Jafar's death, so she knew that the odds were stacked in her favour, but she wasn't sure how good Jasmine's memory was. On the bright side, Leila as a human didn't resemble herself in death, so it was likely that Jasmine would deem her to be a completely different person.

But Jafar would recognise her instantly, Leila was sure of it.

Jasmine looked up at her slowly, raising her blood-shot eyes from the water to the girl's face. "Hello," she responded in an indifferent tone, and in that moment, Leila knew that she was safe from recognition. "Who are... what's happened to you?" Jasmine's voice instantly changed from one of curiosity to concern, as she took in Leila's beaten appearance.

Leila faked a stumble, and Jasmine stood up quickly, to steady her balance.

"You have to help me, please," Leila begged, her words coming out in a tumbled rush. "It's Razoul... he's attacked me!"

"What did he do to you?" Jasmine questioned, her eyes taking in the bruises on her skin, the shifting way in which Leila stood.

The tears leapt that Leila's eyes were real, and when she pressed her fingertips to the tears, she was relieved to find them clear and not of blood. "I'm his wife... his latest one, at least," she mumbled, her voice suddenly quiet. "He raped me."

Leila had no way of knowing that the sudden tightness that came over Jasmine's own eyes had nothing to do with her, as she revealed what happened. But it faded as she glanced around them, making sure no one else was in sight. "Come inside with me," Jasmine urged, taking Leila's wrist in her hand. "We'll deal with this."

It was crunch time. "No..." Leila continued quietly, her voice slightly hesitant. "I need to speak to Sorcerer Jafar about it." It felt almost surreal asking for _Sorcerer _Jafar in person; she'd only known him a_s Captain _Jafar.

"Why?"

The accusation, the sharpness in Jasmine's voice made Leila jump slightly. She was surprised by this response; she wasn't able to check in on Jafar while she was back on Earth, and she'd assumed that everything had been going fine.

Maybe this would be a little easier than she'd thought.

Leila swallowed nervously at Jasmine's reaction. "Razoul works for him, does he not?" she questioned. "I would think he would be the best person to speak to... he'd be able to do something about it." As she said this, she studied Jasmine's face – her eyes, which had been kind and concerned to begin with, had turned very cold and sharp at Leila's request to see Jafar. Admittedly, she expected a little negative reaction from the Queen, that she would be taken aback, but this reaction was very surprising.

"Fine," Jasmine snapped , turning on her heel and stalking back towards the palace, Leila trotting along behind. "Of course it would have to be a man," she muttered darkly, not caring whether Leila was in earshot or not. "A woman can't be helpful, naturally..."

As Leila followed her through the palace, she ignored the grand interiors and focused instead on the Queen ahead of her, no longer faking any stumbling and walking quite quickly, but with a small frown on her face. As she watched the ends of Jasmine's long, dark hair brush against the hem of her skirt of fine turquoise silk, Leila felt her resentment and jealously towards Jasmine grow a little more, emotions that had started when Jasmine had fallen pregnant with Aziza – when she had reached into Jasmine's stomach in the dream, her only wish had been that it could've been reality. As far as Leila was concerned, with Jasmine's current attitude, Jasmine clearly didn't appreciate who she had by her side.

Leila would. She had.

Focused on Jasmine, Leila barely noticed as they swept into the throne room, barely noticed the man in black and red robes that lounged in the chair, and it was only Jasmine's voice that snapped her into reality.

"Jafar!" she shouted, her voice sharp, refusing to let her voice break in the first words that she'd spoken to him since the problems of the night before. She held her chin high. "This girl," she snapped, her cold gaze falling briefly on Leila, "wants to speak with you."

Jolted out of his thoughts, Jafar glanced up to look at his wife with a shudder escaping his lips at the sight of her, but otherwise his face was one of steel against the energy of anger that surrounded her. He allowed his eyes to fall on the girl beside her, and before he truly realised whom he was looking at, he straightened in the chair to greet her.

And then he recognised her.

As his mind blew out into several directions at once, it was to his credit that Jafar was able to maintain a perfectly straight face.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Apologies for the chapters coming out with delays between them – between work, night school and wedding planning, and along with a more complex plot than An Agreement's Small Print, this story is taking much longer to write and update. But thank you to my reviewers, readers and lurkers, even if the previous chapter was a bit of a shocking plot twist..._


	14. Apology

**The Small Print's Limitations**

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* * *

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**Chapter Fourteen**

This should've been impossible.

Despite the calm expression on his face, alarm bells had started going off inside Jafar's head, as he glanced between his wife... and his wife. Leila had died a year before Jasmine was even born – it should've been impossible for the pair of them to be on Earth at the same time, let alone standing in the same room as adults.

Jafar shifted uncomfortably on the throne, watching his wives – one glaring at him furiously with bruising on her cheek, one studying him quietly with bruising around her neck. He wondered if this now meant that he had two wives; though he personally wasn't against the idea, he doubted Leila would be up for it, and Jasmine would most likely just leave.

He swallowed hard at the thought, holding Jasmine's cold gaze. Something inside him twisted at the sight of her hurt face, knowing he had caused it – before the little street rat had killed him, he knew that he wouldn't feel as if a dagger had buried itself into him at knowing he'd deliberately hit her.

Something had definitely changed, and he wasn't sure if he was comfortable with this change. All Jafar wanted to do was take last night back.

But he knew Jasmine too well, and knew that she wasn't always the forgiving type, especially when it came to him.

"Apparently," Jasmine announced, her voice sharp and cutting into him, "only _you_ can help her."

"Jasmine – "

She turned away before he could get another word in, but he hadn't missed the hurt look in her eyes, brimming with tears, and she left the room quickly, not wanting to speak with him just yet; not trusting herself to speak to him without crying. But as Jafar went to stand to go after her, the voice of their audience member spoke up: "I've missed you."

His attention diverted, he breathed deeply as Leila walked up to him boldly. This was all he needed right now; Leila could really pick her timing. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, his voice cold.

The smile on Leila's face froze at his tone. She'd had prepared herself for the fact that he might not be pleased to see her, but then again, there was no pleasing this man with anything. Besides, she was sure his attitude had nothing to do about her personally, but to do with his little princess of a wife, and what better timing did she have in order to relax him?

Slowly, she flicked her hair back over her shoulder, the way that used to tempt him, when they were little more than children.

"I came back for you," she said softly, standing in front of him, and allowed her fingertips to gaze his hand lightly.

But he wasn't listening, now that he was close to her bruised neck. It hurt him to see that, in more ways than one. "What has happened?" he questioned, noting how the bruises looked suspiciously like finger markings. "Are you alright?"

The catch in her breath wasn't for show. "Razoul... he..." she cleared her throat and tried again, "When they let me come here, they made me be married to him. I can't go back to him... what's wrong?"

Jafar's hand clenched at the sound of his guard's name, at the knowledge of what he'd done to Leila, and more frightening, the knowledge of what he would've done to Jasmine the previous evening. To think that he'd been taking advice from him – had he really been away from the world for so long that he was that out of touch?

He'd already made Jasmine suffer through this at the beginning of their marriage. _Why_ was he making her suffer through it again?

Because he'd taken the word from someone who should've known better, but in all honestly, he wasn't surprised about what Razoul was capable of.

Jafar knew he had some explaining to do, but right now, so did Leila.

"It's nothing, and you don't need to go back to him," he heard himself replying. "But you need to go home. You have no right in being here," he continued, his voice beginning to rise, though whether it was from anger at himself or anger at Leila, he wasn't sure.

Undisturbed and having already made up her mind, Leila reached for him, clutching onto his robe, her eyes wide as she gazed up to him. "I'm not leaving without you," she promised, her voice a mere whisper. "I love you."

"I don't love you."

Sometimes, he could be so cold.

Leila stepped back from him_, _letting go of the fabric, her eyes sharpening. He was a different man now – she'd known that back in the Afterlife, that this was not the same man that she had married. But he was still rightfully hers.

He beat her to speaking, as she struggled to bring about the right words, words to destroy. "I'm not going back with you. The only time I'm ever going back is when Jasmine is gone, because I'm not leaving her again. You need to go."

"I won't," was the simple reply, her eyes steadily focused on the floor, her hair falling around her face.

Jafar had to keep himself from cursing out loud. Out of options, and with far more important problems to deal with, he sighed. "Leila, you can stay here, and I shall deal with Razoul. But we are in the past, and that's where we're staying."

It was only when his footsteps faded into nothing did Leila raise her head, staring at the empty throne. She'd barely heard his final comments, and nor did it matter to her what he had said. Despite the outright rejection, a smile slowly formed on her face as his words rang inside her head. He had said it himself.

_The only time I'm ever going back is when Jasmine is gone._

__

_

* * *

_

The bedroom was dark when Jafar opened the door, and he let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding when he saw the figure under the sheets.

He hadn't been certain which way Jasmine was going to go; whether she would hide out in her old quarters (he had a feeling that she didn't know that he knew that was where she ran to) for a longer period of time, or whether she was agreeable enough to share their bed once more. To his relief, it appeared that she'd gone the latter way, but still, she'd always been a stubborn woman.

"'mine," he called, quietly, closing the door behind him. Her back to him, Jasmine didn't move. But he knew better than what she would care to admit – this didn't necessarily mean she was sleeping.

Slowly, he walked towards the bed, where he sat against the headboard, and waited.

He didn't need to wait long.

"I hate you," came the muffled voice beside him, and Jafar swallowed hard at the slightly teary tone in her voice.

"I know."

"I can't forgive you yet."

"I know."

"I don't know why you've done this."

"I know."

For several more moments, there was silence.

Jasmine turned herself over and opened her eyes, to find her husband staring down at her, his face calm. Curiosity had gotten the better of her – he was _never_ this agreeable, especially for something wrong that he had done; there was always some way that he twisted it into her fault. But this time... he seemed to accept the blame.

And she didn't know how to approach it.

"I was influenced," he finally said, expanding on his 'I know', "and it was a negative influence. I was not used to Aziza's attitude, at her lack of obedience, and I took it out on you."

Jasmine knew that this was the closest that she would get to an apology from Jafar; he was far too proud to ever actually say that he was sorry. And in the past, the above apology would've been enough.

But she was no longer a child.

She stared down onto the bed, where their hands lay, only centimetres apart. So close, she could reach out to touch him without trying. But she kept her hand where it was, as she found the words that she knew she had to say, even after the years of misery. "I can't do this again," came her whisper, attempting to smooth the shakiness out of her voice.

"Can't do what again?"

"Deal with..." her voice broke up, "... deal with this behaviour from you again. I need you to be my husband again, not the man I knew as a child. If you can't..."

Jasmine swallowed hard, and despite herself, her hand reached for his.

"If you can't, then I need you to leave, because we can't start again."

The pair considered her words in silence, before his swallowing broke it. Jafar knew what she was telling him, and in that moment, he knew that she was his everything.

Uncertain of the right words to say, he got up from the bed, ignoring the small, heart-broken call of his name behind him, and the echoing hitched sob. But he merely disrobed and slipped into bed besides her, and it was only when he did so that Jasmine felt herself calm.

For a long moment, the pair faced each other, her wide yet weary eyes staring into his serious and calculating ones. His fingers found her hand on the bed and enclosed around it, noting how young her skin felt under his. "It was a once-off time," he murmured, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss it. "I'm not going to do that again."

"I know you too well." They both knew that she didn't believe him.

"I'm going to make you believe me," came his certain promise, "and that's all I can do for now... alright?"

She continued to stare at him, but felt her teeth pull on her bottom lip lightly at his words. It was true – there was nothing else he could do right now, and there was nothing he could say to make the pain go away, both emotionally and physically. Time had healed wounds previously, and time was all that could make this situation right again. "Alright," she murmured back, hoping that she wouldn't regret this, but her love was too strong to not give him another chance, as she always had.

To his surprise, Jasmine then rolled back over, and then she reached behind to pull his arm around her waist, to hold her. She felt him hesitate, before a muffled sigh – of whether frustration or relief, she wasn't sure – and a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder.

Jasmine refused to warm to any further advances from Jafar, or any drifting of his fingers, and remained still, forcing him to do the same. All that was required now was comfort, and even though she had agreed to his words, she was in no shape or form to give herself to him physically; she desperately wanted to trust him again, but these things would need to take time.

And it was only when his hand pressed against her stomach gently, that Jasmine's calming heart froze in her chest at her realisation.

She didn't trust him yet to tell him about the baby.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews from new and old readers! After getting married and being overseas for an extended period of time, I'm hoping my updates become a little more regular..._


	15. Closer

**The Small Print's Limitations**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Fifteen**

The female royal bathroom was empty, except for one person.

Jasmine sat on the floor of the bath, her hair fanning above her against the water's edge, her opened against the water's depths. As a child, she had found that she seemed to be practically talented at holding her breath for long periods of time, and there was something about being surrounded by the warm water, and any possible sound outside it being muffled away to nothing, that she found incredibly soothing.

Not that it was probably a safe idea with her unborn child, argued a small part of her mind, but Jasmine had done this plenty of times while carrying Aziza, and she'd turned out normal. A little... right of field, perhaps, but that could be put down to merely being her father's daughter.

But it was the only place in the palace that she could be truly alone, and undisturbed; in her old bedroom, anyone could just come in, and regularly, they had. As soon she was trusted not to accidentally drown herself as a child, she'd been allowed into the bathroom, where she'd discovered that no man could enter, and so being the one and only female royal member of the palace, the bathroom was hers, and hers alone (in contrast, Jasmine thought that the men's bathroom must be absolutely crowded). Even now, the only other person who shared her bathroom was Aziza, but still, there was more than enough bath to go around.

Which was why when Jasmine saw the slender legs enter the bath through her hazy vision, she thought nothing of it until she resurfaced to greet her daughter – only to frown when she realised who had stepped in. "What are you doing in here?" Jasmine immediately questioned, her voice coming out colder than intended, bouncing around the marbled walls.

Leila glanced over at her opponent in surprise – other than a discarded towel on the bath's edge, there had been no indication that there was anyone else in the bathroom. "I'm sorry," she called back, trying not to let her distaste for the enemy show in her tone. "I didn't realise there was anyone else in here."

"I understand, but you're not supposed to be in here," Jasmine continued, not wanting to be so rude to disregard the girl's apology, but wanting her privacy back. And quickly.

"My – " Leila had to stop herself from referring to him as her husband, " – Jafar advised me that I could come in. I haven't been able to bathe since... since I had to stay with Razoul." Inwardly, Leila scolded herself for doing such a poor job at acting like a normal human being; if she had said that she hadn't been able to bathe since she'd come to Earth, like she'd been about to say, her entire cover would be blown.

Unknown to Leila's thoughts, Jasmine stared at her for a suspicious moment. Something about this entire situation was off, now that she actually thought about it, but it was something that she couldn't quite put her finger on – it was incredibly unlike Jafar to allow these privileges to a stranger; it would be unlike him to offer any privileges to anyone. She felt her teeth clench in emotion... if she dared say it, Jasmine would say that she might've been jealous; who was this girl, who Jafar was bending the rules for? The only thing she could think of was that he felt sorry for a girl who had been at the hands of Razoul, but really, that didn't make a lot of sense; Jafar's views on this sort of thing was shared with just about every man in Agrabah (except for Aladdin, she mused) – that whatever a man did in his family life was his own matter. This was not something she could find herself blaming Jafar for, for it was merely their culture, no matter how much she didn't like it, so to find this girl here now was lost on Jasmine – what made her so special?

And it was not only that, but by the way the girl – and she really was a girl, Jasmine figured her to be no older than twenty – stared at her, Jasmine got the strange feeling that she _knew_ her. But there was nothing in the young, pretty face that resembled anyone she knew.

Feeling slightly nervous, especially as the girl began to swim closer, her eyes occasionally lifting to stare at her, Jasmine begun to make her way to the edge of the bath and her towel, pushing through the water with a little more speed and force than necessary. "It's no matter," she replied, "I was just getting out anyway."

Leila watched her step out of the water and wrap the towel quickly around her body, eyeing her stomach for a quick moment. She'd always been strangely able to pick up on things that shouldn't have been known when she'd been alive, as if she could nearly read one's mind, and she was finding that this was becoming stronger now she was dead. "You don't have to leave on my account," she called out through the stream.

"I've been in here for hours anyway," Jasmine lied, beginning to patter around the side of the baths, heading towards the doors.

"Oh... and if you don't mind me asking, how far along are you?"

Jasmine froze in her footsteps, and slowly turned to face the girl, who'd asked the question so innocently. She knew she wasn't showing yet; she knew she was too early to show, considering even Jafar hadn't noticed. "Whatever are you talking about?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. How could this girl possibly know, when those close to her had no idea?

"Well, you're pregnant, aren't you?" Leila's voice was curious. "It's very exciting – Jafar must be pleased."

Jasmine stared at her for a long moment, feeling a faint shiver run up her spine at both of the girl's comments. Not trusting her voice to respond, she continued to walk, wanting to more run out of the room; if she'd felt nervous before around the girl, now she felt a little afraid.

Not having looked back, she didn't see Leila relax back in the water, an amused smile on her face. Jafar's little pet hadn't needed to respond to her comments; her facial expression had said it all.

Jafar had no idea, and Leila had absolutely no intentions on telling him, for this suddenly made things a lot easier for herself.

* * *

Despite her attitude towards him since Jafar's return, Aladdin's memories of himself and Jasmine before the sadist had become a sorcerer were memories that he held dear.

They were at times, quite literally, what kept him sane – that Jasmine had been his, once upon a time, even if only for a few days.

It may have been under the pretence of lies, having pretended that he was a prince, but the night that he'd taken Jasmine on the carpet ride had been the best night of his life. It was the night that Aladdin held onto when the relations between himself and Jasmine were very depressed, which seemed to be quite regularly the case since she'd returned from London, and her low-life of a husband returned from the dead. For one night, one single night that he'd spent alone with her, it had been perfect; Jasmine's head cradled under his, watching the fireworks, sharing future dreams – _happy _dreams. Of course, on his return to Agrabah, he'd been attacked and nearly killed by drowning, but if he focused his energy on thinking about every time Jafar had either personally or had the guards attack him, Aladdin's life would be more depressed than it usually was.

But now, finally, it seemed that there was a golden lining on the horizon.

Aladdin had very quietly slipped through Aziza's open doorway, and watched her without her knowledge, as she stood on her balcony with her back to him. Her long, near uncontrollable curls floating in the slight breeze, Aladdin could nearly smell her sweet scent from where he stood, which made him smile; so different to the feisty personality that had shown itself to everyone in the palace, after her shouting match with her father at the palace gates. It was something that was still being murmured about in the palace, with both a mixture of awe and horror towards the Princess; no man's wife in Agrabah would ever stand up to him in public like that, let alone a man's daughter, so publicly!

And despite the fact that he knew that Jasmine was to proud to ever behave in such a manner, Aladdin was sure he was attracted to the same quality in Aziza that he had been to Jasmine – their ability to stand up for themselves, that they were far from being push-overs.

He knew Aziza liked him, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He'd caught her gazes during her grandfather's funeral, and had been able to see Jafar and Aziza arguing within their little royal 'box', as he'd called it – their words and voices had been impossible to hear from where he'd been standing with the citizens, but it was clear on their faces what they'd been arguing about. Their time together at the fountain had been peaceful, and while Aladdin knew he didn't have much knowledge when it came to women, he knew that it was more than friendship the way Aziza had flicked her hair back over her shoulders, the slight squeeze of her hand against his forearm.

Jasmine's... request for him to stay away from her daughter had only encouraged him; Aladdin was no longer going to be a prisoner to her, nor was he going to remain in anyone's shadows. And Jafar... well, he could go to damnation for all Aladdin cared.

Slowly, he began to walk towards Aziza, not wanting to startle her. "It's a little cold to be out here so late," he called, gently pushing apart the curtains to the balance.

Aziza spun around at the sudden sound, her eyes wide in surprise, but she quickly calmed at the sight of Aladdin, and he did not miss the faint blush that appeared across her cheeks. "Hello, Aladdin," she said quietly, biting back the little smile that threatened to appear. "Cold it might be... but it's certainly warmer than back in London."

"That's probably true," Aladdin agreed, despite having no idea what the weather might be in London. He leaned back against the balcony's rail, flashing a lopsided grin at her, somewhat impressed that when he stood to full height, he was nearly eye-to-eye with Aziza; for a girl, she was incredibly tall. "You've become quite a sensation around here," he continued, keeping his voice casual.

Aziza sighed and smoothed her hair back, only for the waves to escape again. "I can imagine," she said quietly. "I just... he has no right to just walk in and tell me what to do, I'm an adult! I'm happy that Mother's happy that he's back, but... he can be so cruel, if you know what I mean?"

Did he ever. His hand was a permanent remainder.

Before Aladdin could open the flood gates about Jafar, Aladdin stood up properly, giving her a gentle smile. "Let's talk about something else," he decided, coming close to her and pressing his palm against her cheek. "You might be a sensation around here, but I think you're sensational," he acknowledged, feeling both brave and stupid at his words. It was now or never.

Aziza's face burned under his touch, and despite herself, she felt her face push against his hand gently in comfort. She could deal with the aftermath of whatever resulted from her parents later; she trusted herself to make her own decisions, she didn't need their influence. "Thank you," she said quietly, almost shyly. She didn't do shy, not normally. "I... I feel the same way, about you."

There was a moment's heart beat, before he found the courage to press his lips against hers, his hands finding her waist. He could hear the muffled sound of surprise escape the Princess, but he persisted with the kiss, until he could feel Aziza relax, returning the warm kiss. There was something that felt a little wrong about this situation; both their age difference and the fact that her body felt so, so similar to what he remembered Jasmine's to feel like, but he pushed these thoughts out of his head – this felt too wonderful to be wrong.

It was only when they both had to come up for air that the kiss was broken, and he rested his forehead against hers gently, their breathing heavy. Aziza ran the tip of her tongue gently over her bottom lip, as if she could still taste him. "Aladdin... I..." she murmured, only to find herself speechless for the first time in her memory.

Aladdin took a deep breath, feeling himself coming to making a life-changing decision. He had already allowed one woman to escape from him. He would be damned if he lost another.

"Aziza?"

"Yes?"

"Marry me."

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Thank you EndlessDiamondSky and Skelanimaldiego for the reviews, and for the congratulations – the husband was impressed when he saw me type 'Chapter Fourteen' at the beginning of the last chapter, only to be unimpressed when he realised it was Aladdin fan-fiction!_

_I'm glad that Jafar still seems to be in character – he's becoming a little tougher to write the longer this story goes on, it's not always easy to tell myself so your lovely reviews are incredibly helpful._


	16. Demands

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"_Marry me."_

Aziza froze at his words, the sparkle in her eyes growing faint and dim. Unable to suddenly find herself looking at him, she glanced down at her long hands, her fingertips pressing together in uncertainty, ignoring the call of her name from the man in front of her.

Kissing a man that her parents didn't seem to approve of behind their backs was one thing; marrying him was quite another.

It was when she had first laid her eyes on Frederick as someone other than a friend that her mother had pulled her aside in an act of desperation.

"You can like whoever you want," Jasmine had said quietly, squeezing her daughter's hands gently, unaware at the time that Frederick had already been courting another woman. "But please, _please_... don't marry himuntil you are ready; there isn't a need to rush these things."

Aziza had rolled her eyes. "Mother, I'm only fifteen, I'm not going to marry anyone yet, I'm too young for that."

"And I was months older than you," Jasmine snapped back, annoyed by her daughter's constantly snide attitude. She closed her eyes briefly, bringing her breathing under control. "Aziza, you live in England. You have the freedom to choose who you want to marry and when; I don't want you to marry someone when you're young if you don't have to!"

"What if I find them? Why should I let someone I love go because of that?"

"You don't need to let them go, exactly..." Jasmine murmured. Sometimes they didn't leave. "But your feelings for them... they might change."

Aziza had stared at her mother in disbelief, the way she often stared at her now that she was becoming a young woman. But by that point, Jasmine had drifted back into her mind and away from the conversation, as she so often had during her time of depression. It was a scenario she hadn't considered since the early times of her marriage, and it was a scenario that now struck a nerve in Jasmine – had she had been given the option to be with Aladdin, would she had ever been with Jafar? The answer was a resounding _no_, and now Jasmine couldn't imagine evernot being with her husband, or having been with an insanely jealous Aladdin.

But Aziza hadn't been privy to this, and it was with nervousness that she stared at Aladdin now, her mother's words echoing in her head. She'd laughed inwardly at her mother at the time, but now that the proposal of marriage had arrived, the idea of being a wife at the age of sixteen frightened her, as it had her mother.

"I love you," Aladdin commented now, ignoring the sudden flinch at the words in Aziza's face, and grasped her hands, his eyes wide in childish hope. "All you need to say is yes."

"Aladdin..." Aziza murmured quietly. "I do like you but we don't know each other well enough..."

"We have a whole lifetime to know each other better," he replied, half excited and half hopeful. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them lightly. "Aziza, you're beautiful, you're lovely, you're perfect for me... you would make me so happy if you would agree to become my wife."

In his heart, Aladdin knew that Aziza was only second rate to Jasmine, though he would never dare to breathe a word of that to Aziza; besides, except for being perfect for him, every other word was true. And the words were working; her eyes were softening at the compliments, and he held his breath nervously, just wishing that she would hurry up and accept.

But then her teeth found her lower lip and he had a sinking feeling that they shared the same idea; Jafar had already prevented Aladdin from being with one woman, and Aladdin would be damned if Jafar prevented him from being with a second woman. But as Aziza's father, Jafar had every right to keep them separated, and Aladdin knew there was nothing that he wasn't capable of to do so.

"My parents will never agree to this."

Aladdin had been left for dead by Jafar four times, the last time only weeks ago. To Aladdin's surprise, he realised that he was no longer afraid of that. "I don't care," he said honestly, pressing his hand gently to Aziza's cheek, trying to soothe her. "If they don't approve of us, then we'll run. But I love you, Aziza," he repeated, not sure whom he was trying to convince. "All I need is for you to say yes."

There was a long moment, before Aziza finally broke into a smile, her acceptance of his proposal a faint, excited whisper.

* * *

The opening and slamming of the door startled Jasmine, and she looked up from behind the bedroom couch, her eyes wide and teary with fear.

It was only when she recognised the woman coming towards her as her daughter that she relaxed, and not the woman that had tormented her in both dreams and reality. "Aziza," she called quietly in greeting.

Aziza offered her mother a gentle smile, but the concern was clear in her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Jasmine considered the question for some time before answering.

The strange girl from the bathroom had entered her dreams the night before, taunting her over her unborn child, to the point that Jasmine had sprung awake from the nightmare, her breath caught in her throat. She'd thought for sure that her tossing and turning had woken Jafar, but as she watched him lay in near unconsciousness, her hand had clutched around her growing stomach in fear.

She had noticed the small bump in her stomach before retiring, and instead of the joy that she had felt the previous two pregnancies at that stage, she only felt panic. A small voice in her head told her that she was being unreasonable, that she had nothing to fear from Jafar by telling him that she was expecting their third child – he'd been surprised but quietly pleased when the doctor had told him about the first one (at least, he had been once he'd found his voice again), and just pleased when she'd told him about the second one; to be fair, he'd known about his active involvement prior to being told with the second. Jasmine was certain that he still believed that the birth control potion has just mysteriously failed, and she saw no reason to tell him otherwise.

No, she didn't fear Jafar with this pregnancy. But after what had happened with his physically violent outburst, and the independence she had gained from raising their children alone, Jasmine realised that she didn't want to tell him until it was too late... or until at least she could find a way to raise this child by herself.

Deep down, she knew she didn't want that. But she couldn't drive the thought of doing so out of her head.

It was this new girl she feared. Not only for the fact that she seemed to know, and Jasmine felt an uncanny feeling that Jafar could find out about his unborn child by way of this girl. But there was something that felt almost wrong about her... as if she was keeping an eye on her, and in turn, Jasmine felt as if she had to keep one eye open.

In order not to leave their bedroom that morning – and avoid the strange girl – Jasmine had feigned sickness to Jafar, and rested on the couch all day in her silk gown, trying not to imagine having to leave the room the following day. But as Aziza walked towards her, but curiosity and concern written on her face, Jasmine faked a small smile. "I'm feeling better, thank you," she replied, keeping her voice steady. She smoothed the fabric on the couch beside her. "Sit with me."

Aziza swallowed hard, before walking towards the couch, plucking an apple from a nearby fruit bowl on the way and clutching it in her hands. As she watched the stars twinkling in the night sky through the sheer curtains, Aziza was quiet for so long that Jasmine had closed her eyes, resting her head against the back of the couch.

She studied her mother for a short time – the long dark hair draped over her shoulders matched the dark circles under her eyes. Her mother still looked so young (at least, she looked young in comparison to her father), but Aziza knew she'd gone through so much that she seemed older than she really was. Knowing that she didn't seem well, Aziza hesitated to burden her mother any further, but decided it was best not to put it off any further.

"Mother?" Jasmine's eyes opened slightly. "Aladdin proposed marriage to me. And I accepted."

Jasmine stared at her daughter for a long moment, her mind struggling to comprehend the announcement. But when she realised what had been said, it was a struggle to keep the anger out of her voice. "Aziza... " Words briefly left her, and she rubbed her forehead tiredly. "I believe I suggested that a relationship with Aladdin wasn't a wise idea."

"I know you did," Aziza replied, her fingers wrapping around the apple tighter. "But I need to follow my heart... I love him."

"You don't – " Jasmine caught herself from repeating the same argument again, figuring it was pointless. "That's no reason to get married... and this is something that you should have approached your father and I about first, before you accepted."

"You would've said no," Aziza argued, feeling her blood boil as she went to defend herself. "And if you didn't, then Father would've said no. I'm sixteen, an adult and I can make my own decisions!"

Jasmine sighed, tuning her daughter out. She had enough on her plate at the moment than deal with some sort of relationship that Aziza had gotten herself involved in; apparently her begging of her daughter not to become a wife before was ready had to led to nothing. And besides, quite selfishly, Jasmine hoped that maybe this would mean Aladdin would leave her alone... though she did not wish to see her daughter hurt by his callous actions.

And then she suddenly felt relief. "You know what, Aziza? You're right," Jasmine agreed, forcing a smile at Aziza's bright face. "You are an adult and can make your own decisions. But unfortunately, you're no longer in England; you're in Arabia, and in this particular matter, your father has the ultimate decision and can override yours." At the paling of her daughter's face, Jasmine shrugged lightly. "And you can be the one to tell your father."

"Tell me what?"

Jasmine and Aziza glanced at each other in sudden fright at the sound of Jafar's voice, having come out of nowhere. Slowly, they looked up over the couch at him, watching as he rested his snake staff down, and then walked calmly towards them, spreading his hands along the back of the couch so he leaned between them. "I came just in time to hear that I have an ultimate decision," he said quietly, before training his eyes on his daughter. "In what, Aziza?"

Aziza stared at him eye-to-eye for several seconds for shaking back her hair. "Aladdin proposed marriage to me, Father. I accepted his proposal," she said clearly, before cocking an eyebrow at him, ready for a fight.

"Excellent."

They stared at him, and at the lack of sarcasm in his voice. "What?" escaped Jasmine's mouth before she could stop it.

Jafar glanced down at his wife, before turning his attention back to his daughter's delighted expression. "You have our blessing," he continued, in a relaxed tone. "The wedding will take place within a few weeks."

Aziza's face broke into a bright smile at her father's approval, and found herself kissing his cheek before she could stop herself. "Thank you, Father!" she said excited, before leaping off the couch and leaving the room quickly, closing the door between their rooms behind her.

Jasmine watched her leave, barely acknowledging Jafar's hands running over her shoulders. "What, in Allah's name, was that?" she questioned, her tone one of disbelief, her words for Jafar but not looking at him.

"Whatever do you mean?" he replied, moving her hair to kiss her neck lightly.

As if burned, she pulled away from his hands, glaring at him. "_You have our blessing!_" she mocked, knowing that she was acting childish but not caring. "You hate Aladdin! You hate the very idea of our daughter being with Aladdin! Get off it, Jafar – where has this come from?"

Jafar paused, wanting to wait until his wife's anger had calmed down slightly, before he knelt down at her side, staring up at her pointedly. "With Aziza in the next room, it might do you some good to keep your voice down," he said quietly, and ignored it when she looked away from him in submission. He pressed a hand against Jasmine's forehead. "How are you feeling? You don't feel warm," he questioned, preferring not to answer his wife.

"I feel fine!" she snapped, her anger overriding her remembrance of the excuse as to why she was in their bedroom. "I'll come out of here when that girl has gone!"

"'mine... what are you talking about?"

Jasmine looked at him, then bit her lip as she realised what she'd told him. She thought for a moment about changing the subject, but could feel the dam of fear and hatred towards the girl beginning to burst somewhere inside her. "That girl who you're letting live here!" she argued, watching as he sat calmly where Aziza had occupied. "You would usually turn someone like that out onto the street, no matter their reasons! What is she doing here?"

"She won't be here long," he said quietly, biding his time, trying to bring up an excuse why and trying to ignore the fact that he was coming up with blanks. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Jasmine. Why don't we – "

She kicked the hand away that had been slowly moving its way up her ankle, and glared at him; matching dangerous expressions staring into dark eyes.

"I want the truth," she said, carefully. "Who is she?"

* * *

_TBC_


	17. Sara

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

It was nearly dawn when Jasmine found herself on the couch again, staring at her sleeping husband in both confusion and disbelief.

From most other men, she might've found his excuse of merely trying to give a woman a safe-haven for a short while reasonable; if she wasn't certain that there were other reasons behind Jafar's keeping of the girl, or if she didn't know him as well as she did, Jasmine might've thought that this action was commendable. She'd kissed him good night when he'd finished explaining that it was simply an issue of safety, and smiled at him, but it was a smile that didn't shine in her heart, and after sleeplessly tossing and turning, Jasmine had returned to the couch.

The issue was, she realised, that nothing added up.

This just wasn't him, to go around protecting another girl like this, with apparently no incentive. Whether it was because his own daughter was now teenager, Jasmine didn't know, but there seemed to be no reason for Jafar's sudden change in this part of his personality. And besides, she figured, if he truly cared about protecting this girl, he would've tried to stop Razoul. But Jafar had told Jasmine himself that it was not his problem what Razoul did to his wives; that was a different matter to offering safety to one of the wives, if she so sought it out.

Jasmine sighed softly as she stared at him, beginning to find that being so nearby to him draining, rather than allowing her search for an answer. Quietly, not wishing to wake him, she took her robe and flung it around herself, leaving the dark bedroom, and closing the door silently behind her. Perhaps a walk would do her good.

* * *

It had been a different time, with fewer struggles, when she'd met him at thirteen.

Their shadows had fallen across Leila's face, blocking the afternoon sunlight, as she'd rested under the tree in her parents' backyard. It was nearly the end of spring, and she knew that there wouldn't be many more afternoons that she could spend this way, openly lying in the sun but guarded by the tall walls that surrounded the grassy courtyard; it would simply be too warm soon. But for now, it was perfect.

For now, for one moment in time in the privacy of her courtyard in the middle of the capital city of Arabia, hours upon hours away from Agrabah, all was peaceful.

Leila had tried to ignoring the crunching of the ground under the intruders' feet, but she had to open her eyes to protest against the blocking of her sunlight, and found herself staring up at her dear cousin, Sara.

Who stood next to her future husband.

Leila's jaw had fallen open at the sight of Jafar, only a couple of years older than herself, but standing in his military uniform with a scowl on his face, he seemed plenty older; a trait that would remain with him forever. He'd stared at her on the ground for several long seconds, before making a dismissive sound and almost turning away from both of the girls.

Unfussed by his behaviour, Sara had gently tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, and asked with a small smile where Leila's parents were. When Leila replied that they would be out for many hours, she'd willingly given up her patch of sun for them, and escaped inside.

From high in her room, Leila had watched down on them in fascination, of the pair under the tree. She didn't miss the way Sara's fingers curled around Jafar's, or the way she had to encourage him to kiss her, in which she succeeded to the point that Leila had to turn away with flaming cheeks, their actions requiring privacy.

So this was the elusive Jafar that her cousin had spoken of, a boy her own age that had slipped into her life. Leila could see the light that had turned on in Sara's eyes in the last couple of months since meeting him, a light that had been snuffed out since she'd found out she was betrothed to the Sultan of Agrabah, an apparently kind and generous man, but far older than fifteen year old self. This engagement hadn't stopped Sara, though, from pursuing a... Leila wasn't sure what you could call it; her cousin and this Jafar almost seemed to have a relationship, but Sara was so quiet about it that she wasn't sure if there was even one, or if she was simply hiding it from the world. From the display in the private courtyard, Leila could tell that yes, there was definitely a relationship of some kind happening.

After Jafar had gone home for the evening, Sara had gone to Leila's room, smoothing her hair as she stepped inside, and asked if she could take a bath. Afterwards, the two girls had stared at each other for some time; Leila in strange fascination, Sara in some kind of embarrassment but smiling slightly, as if she held a deep secret that couldn't be shared with the universe.

Quietly, Leila asked if they had...

The blush had crossed Sara's face as she looked down, but then she bit back her smile as she glanced at her cousin with wide eyes. "I need to take a small knife with me," she replied, her voice only slightly higher than a whisper, her strange words perplexing Leila.

"Why?"

"I'll need to fake the blood on the wedding night," she said, her voice fading now, a silent plead with her cousin for her not to say anything, to anyone.

And Leila hadn't. Even, she'd gone the opposite direction; the night before Sara would be sent to Agrabah, Leila's parents hadn't been home and so she'd leant Sara and Jafar the bedroom besides hers, all the while her heart breaking – it seemed so unfair for Sara to be forced to marry a man she didn't know let alone love, while she had to leave the man she did love behind, most likely forever.

It would be a good year until Leila would claim Jafar for her own, her own affection beginning to grow for the arrogant and aloof man, with the most driest and sarcastic sense of humour she'd ever met in anyone. And over time, in Sara's departure, she grew to love him.

And during their marriage, she thought he loved her, too.

* * *

It became clear to Leila, watching from the afterlife, that his heart hadn't ever truly belonged to her – that it might've belonged to Sara, and in many, many years to come, it would belong to her daughter, the Princess Jasmine.

Sara had reached out to her old flame after Leila's death, wanting to look after him in some way after barely surviving the torture inflicted on him in leaving the Arabian Army. His attitude and personality had grown from being difficult to downright cold, but Sara was unbothered by this, as she talked the Sultan into allowing her friend to be his new vizier – goodness knows how many useless viziers the Sultan had gone through. The way the Sultan had easily agreed to his wife's suggestion with a smile had Leila believing that surely, Sara had never told him that she and Jafar had been far more than simply friends.

And due to the Sultan's seemingly obsession with his toys and childish things, his wife and his vizier could seemingly have carried on their affair right under his nose and he never would've noticed. But the more Leila watched the pair, the respect for her cousin fell as the respect for her husband climbed – even pregnant with her daughter, Sara had tried to encourage Jafar towards her, only to become furious by his refusal, his argument being that she was a married woman and with another man's child. When asked how it was any different to her merely being engaged, Jafar had advised her that they had only been children who hadn't known better, and that was all there was too it.

In Leila's eyes, she wasn't sure if the brutality of his words was a positive or a negative side to Jafar's personality, but his eyes spoke the opposite towards Sara than what his words said. And despite his conflicting words and emotions, Sara had passed away in childbirth married a man she didn't love, the man she did love, rejecting her, with Leila feeling nothing but pity for her cousin.

Yet her heart broke for Jafar, with due to the Sultan retiring to his chambers in depression, was left alone with the young infant, so soon after the death of his own unborn child and his wife.

* * *

Now Leila watched that infant that had become a woman walk down the corridors of the palace, Jasmine's arms wrapped tightly around herself. The way she held herself, especially with the silk gown, the bump was clearly visible, a fact that Leila was sure Jasmine wasn't aware of. She wondered how Jafar was missing knowing that his own wife was pregnant, or how anyone was missing it, for that matter, but she wouldn't tell him. It wasn't her place to do so, the same way it wasn't her place to tell Jasmine about her mother.

Watching Jasmine walk past the open doorway that Leila hid herself behind, Leila made sure she was presentable – as her old, bleeding self – as she clutched her object behind her back carefully. "Jasmine," she called, just high enough for her voice to be heard by the Queen, and no one else, if they were around.

She heard the footsteps stop, and Jasmine turned around in fear, her tired eyes glancing quickly down the hallway. "Come out!" she replied, her voice a higher pitch than normal, trying to remain strong. "Who are you? Tell me who you are, I order you to!"

Leila smoothed a giggle, before stepping out to face the Queen, blinking through the blood pooling in her eyes, her mouth forming a twisted smile. "Recognise me now?" she taunted.

Jasmine stared at her for a long moment, her jaw falling open slightly in disbelief, the only thought running through her head was '_how?_' Jafar's ex-wife had looked so different in death than she had been in life, yet she was horrified with herself that she had not picked up on this sooner, and more horrified with Jafar that he'd clearly known exactly who this intruder was, and yet had decided to keep it a secret.

In the same way she was keeping this pregnancy a secret.

The way their marriage seemed to be deteriorating nearly made Jasmine want to cry; the knowledge that they were living in lies to each other devastated her to the core.

But she had to push that aside for now – there were more important things in front of her eyes. "How are you here?" she asked, nervously, wanting to step away but her feet refused to move. "You shouldn't be here, why have you come?"

"I came back because I could," Leila replied simply, keeping her hands behind her back, "in much the same way Jafar did. I missed him, you see, like I'm sure you did when he died."

Jasmine swallowed tightly, not wanting to think about that time. "Of course I missed him," and she still did, "But what do you want from me?"

"I want my husband back!"

The sudden outburst shocked both Leila and Jasmine into silence suddenly, and Leila froze, hoping that no one had been awakened by her shouting. When there was no other sound, Leila glared at her and began to stalk towards, still keeping her hands out of sight. Jasmine's feet wanted to run now, but still, Jasmine felt her body became stiff and cold as ice. "I want my husband back," Leila repeated, in a quieter voice. "You don't deserve him, Jasmine, no one does but me! It's people like you and... people like you, that keep dragging him away," she corrected herself, catching herself speaking of Sara.

"I haven't – "

"And what do you do, once you've dragged him back?" Leila demanded to know, nearly face to face with Jasmine, ignoring her protest. "You're having his child, but you're lying to him about it! I lost my child to him!" she nearly shouted again, but kept her voice in check, "Do you have any idea how it feels, to watch you hide away the one thing I wanted? You obviously don't, otherwise you would tell him! You are nothing but a spoilt brat, Jasmine – you don't deserve him, you truly don't."

Jasmine stared at Leila bewildered, her eyes wide, her mind attempting to comprehend her accusations. Slowly, her voice on the edge of tears, she tried to argue back. "I _do_ deserve Jafar," Jasmine said softly, shakily, "and I'm so sorry you feel that way. But I'm married to him now... I'm sorry what happened to you, and to him, but it's not my fault – "

The blood that suddenly spat from her mouth stopped her words, and in shock, Jasmine glanced down between them, at Leila's hand, holding the knife into her stomach. The force that Leila had stabbed her with had made Jasmine jump, feeling as if she'd been winded, and she stared down with a mixture of fear and confusion.

In contrast, Leila stared down at her action with a complete look of calmness on her face. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, but you shouldn't have argued, like you do everything else," Leila said quietly, then twisted the knife inside Jasmine, forcing the woman to choke back a scream. "It's not your fault, but as you have no intention on telling him, I have little choice but to eliminate both you, and your baby."

With that, she pulled out the knife quickly, and watched as Jasmine crumpled to the marble floor. "I hope you understand... see you on the other side."

Jasmine clutched her hands to the gaping wound, trying to stop the blood flow but it simply continued to weep through her fingers. She could feel the blood beginning to well up in her throat, and when she coughed, it splattered across the floor.

The last thing she saw before her world faded to black was Leila's feet walking away, leaving her alone.

* * *

_TBC_


	18. Fools

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

Voices.

She could hear them whispering around her, and feel their movements in the floor, around her body. One knelt down next to her head, and she felt fingers moving her hair out from over her face, tenderly wiping the blood away from her lips. She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious for, or when these people had arrived – one moment she'd been in darkness, alone, and the next, the voices had crept through the black. But she could feel herself slipping away, and these voices were the ledge that she grasped onto.

"Mamma?" She registered the frightened, female voice to be Aziza's. "You're going to be okay... who _did _this?" Aziza asked, her voice going from fear to anger.

"This isn't the time nor place," responded a male voice that she didn't recognise. "My Queen, can you hear us?"

It took everything she had, every last bit of strength, but she flexed her fingers, then felt a hand close around them. "She moved her fingers!" Aziza whispered, "She can hear us... Mamma, we're here."

"Give me your cloak," ordered the male voice, and after several moments, she felt the air from the silk fabric hit her face, and the scent of the cloak is the scent she knows and loves, heavy and rich and strangely comforting.

But the press of the fabric against her stomach to stem the blood flow is too much, and as she felt the pain spread through her body once more she screamed, the sheer physical agony sending her tumbling back into darkness.

* * *

The pressure of a warm body against her cheek stirred her awake once more, and this time she could feel no ground beneath her – just the tenderness of the arms under her knees and back, her head resting against a strong chest, keeping her close. The cloak has been wrapped and tied securely around her stomach now.

"Aladdin," snaps Jafar's voice, and she felt his voice echoing in his body. "Take the children and go – the doctor and I will look over Jasmine."

Three sets of footsteps suddenly took off, and after a long moment, she felt Jafar begin to walk also, quickly but carefully.

"She'll be alright," the first male voice murmured, whom she assumed to be the palace doctor, but she felt herself being clutched tighter against Jafar, his arms clamping around her.

For a moment, she felt enough strength to open her eyes, and trying to avoid feeling the movement of his body, she stared up at him through lidded eyes. She managed to catch the underside of his face – he looked so calm, but she could feel the concern radiating through him.

Closing her eyes once more, she turned her face slightly and pressed it into her robes, drifting away again. What happened after this wouldn't matter, because in this moment, she felt safe in her husband's arms.

* * *

It was nearly sunset when the palace doctor sat down with the royal family in a sitting room, all of them looking as tired as one another.

"It was lucky that you found her when you did, Princess," he said quietly, rubbing his forehead, his eyes gently on Aziza, who sat slumped between her father and her fiancé. "Left alone for too much longer, your mother might not be with us right now."

Aziza swallowed hard at the memory, easily the worst morning of her life. It had been luck – she'd awoken earlier that morning than usual, and in her travels from her bedroom to the dining room, she had come across the corridor with her mother sprawled unmoving, in a pool of dark blood. Aziza's scream before she ran to her side had Jafar and Aladdin running to her immediately, before one had sent for the palace doctor.

Now, behind the closed doors behind the doctor, she knew her mother lay, asleep but sick. The doctor had been in the room all day, and her father had moved between that room and checking on his children, but eventually the doctor had sent him away and the children were forbidden to enter.

It had been several hours before the doctor had called everyone back to the sitting room, and Aziza watched as her father stared at the doctor intently, his face as always difficult to read, and she wondered if he'd even noticed that Aladdin was sitting right with them.

"How is she?" Jafar questioned, his voice calm, but inwardly desperate to be by Jasmine's side.

"She's going to be alright," the doctor replied with a sigh of relief. "The stab wound was fairly deep, but she hasn't lost too much blood and the knife has missed her vital organs, not to mention her womb. Whoever her attack was, they were quite clumsy."

But Jafar hadn't heard the last sentence, as he looked at the doctor with utter confusion. "Why is missing her womb of importance?" he asked, thinking it was a strange thing for the doctor to say.

The doctor stared back at him, vaguely wondering if the man was truly as insensitive and cold as everyone was led to believe, or whether he was quite the idiot. "Your Majesty..." the doctor begun slowly, trying to keep his assumptions out of his voice and deciding to merely state the facts, which Jafar surely knew. "Your wife is with child; she's already four months gone."

Aziza and Aladdin's eyes flew open wide at this news, too shocked to speak, as their stare shot from the doctor to Jafar. Aziza frowned in frustration and confusion – how could her parents have known that there would be another sibling and not said anything? She wasn't sure how her brother felt about it and couldn't see him, sitting on the other side of their father, but she felt nearly betrayed by the idea that they hadn't been told.

As she opened her mouth to ask her father that question, as to why they hadn't said anything, she stared at him, before biting her lip in confusion. In one glance, she knew that her father didn't know about the pregnancy either, and that it was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to everyone else.

* * *

Jasmine took a deep breath before she opened her eyes.

The bright room, flooded in the evening sunset, made her eyes hurt at once, but after several moments, her world became clearer. The room was unfamiliar to her, as was the bed that she lay in, and she felt calm but tired, and much to her relief, she felt little pain. Whatever she had been given was working wonders – it was actually a lovely feeling to be lying there, pain-free but with no energy.

Slowly, she turned her head in the mountain of pillows, and her breathing hitched in her throat at the sight of her husband, standing at the side of the bed. He almost looked like a silhouette, with his body blocking the sunlight, so it almost made it difficult to see his face.

"Jafar, I – " she whispered softly, but as he stepped closer, she quieted at the cold look his face.

"You didn't tell me that you're pregnant," he snapped, his voice sharp.

"You didn't tell me that Leila was here."

And with that, Jasmine closed her eyes, and turned her face away from him, not wanting to speak any further. It was only when she heard his footsteps walk away and the doors closing behind him, when she felt the tears travel down her face.

* * *

Leila glanced up as she heard the door open and close.

She shivered a little in the cold, trying to ignore the skeletons around the dungeon. Down here, she had no idea if she had been successful or not in murdering Jasmine, for all she'd known was Jafar finding her in the afternoon, taking her by the wrist and without a word, or even seeming to listen to anything she said, he had thrown her into the dungeons and locked the door behind him.

And now, hours later, he returned. She was grateful in a small way that he hadn't chained her up – she was free to roam the small dungeon, not that there seemed to be any way out; the small window was far too high to reach, and the door, she had discovered, appeared to be bolted from the outside. So she'd found herself no option but to sit in the dirt, and wait.

Through the pale moonlight, she squinted at the newcomer, and despite his actions earlier in the day, she felt her heart race at the sight of Jafar, walking slowly down the steps towards her. Leila brought herself to her feet to walk towards him, her hand reaching out to him, her mouth opening to speak...

The sharp sting of his hand against her face caused Leila to swear, and tears to well up unexpectedly in her eyes. "You will be disappointed to hear that you failed," she heard him say through the pain, his words seeming to ring in her ears. "My _wife_ is in considerable pain, but is now resting."

Leila's eyes narrowed at the sound of Jasmine's recovery, and with no fear in her eyes, she forced herself to look up at Jafar, the anger on her face reflecting his. "You're right," she replied, "I _am_ disappointed. She doesn't deserve you, or your unborn child. She doesn't deserve what I wasn't able to have, I tried to explain it to her but she just wouldn't listen!" she argued, her voice rising higher with her argument.

"The only reason you didn't have it, the only reason why our child died, was due to your own stupidity!" Jafar snapped back at her, the events of the day beginning to weigh on him, his patience and outwardly calm manner at an all-time low. "Leila, you only have yourself to blame! None of this is Jasmine's fault – " for moments, he was able to ignore the fact that she'd hidden the pregnancy from him, for he knew that for different reasons, he was much at fault in the breakdown of their trust, " – so leave her be; leave us be!"

"And what am I supposed to do?" Leila cried, furious with both herself and him at the tears that suddenly escaped her eyes in desperation. "Just watch the two of you as you pretend to play happy families? I tried, Jafar, I've tried to do that, and what happened after I died? You ran straight to Sara! How do you think - ?"

For the first time, Leila felt the sorcerer powers within Jafar – in a heartbeat, they were against the dungeon's wall, his hand gripped around her throat with her feet dangling off the floor, facing eye-to-eye. She tried to kick out desperately at him, her own hands trying to move to attack him, though she had no fear of death as it didn't exist for her now, but merely for to be able to stand against him. "You're hurting me..." she whispered, her voice hoarse in her throat.

"I don't care!" he shouted now in her face, causing Leila to flinch. "Your jealously is out of control! You were jealous that I was a friend – a _friend_ – of Sara's; you are jealous that I am married to Jasmine. Leila, I could be married to the most ancient, most barren, most poor woman in all of Arabia and you would still find something to be jealous of her with!"

With Leila's silence responding to him, and the defiant look on her face, Jafar dropped her unceremoniously, ignoring the way she rubbed her throat. "I have had enough," he warned quietly, staring down at the top of her head with only fury. "I order you to return to the After Life and do not return, I do not want to see you nor hear of you ever again. Am I making myself clear?"

She looked up at him now, her dark eyes wide at his request, feeling her tears come from rejection now rather than desperation. Out of everything she'd gone through, not to mention being at the hands of Razoul, she had failed. And failure was a difficult concept to swallow. "You don't mean that," she pleaded, her voice quiet.

"I mean it in much the same way that you meant to ruin mine, Jasmine's and our children's lives."

With that, Jafar turned away, his newly-made cloak sweeping behind him grandly as he walked back up the stairs and away from Leila, hearing her proclamation of love for him but choosing to ignore it.

The sound of the bolt sliding on the outside of the door made Leila's heart freeze, and she closed her eyes, the shuddering breath taken in her lungs making her body shake. Looking around herself in the darkness, Leila tipped her head back against the wall in defeat, before she gazed up towards the window, the stars twinkling high above her.

Yes, Jafar had made himself clear.

_Bring me home now._

And with that, the only thing of Leila that remained in the dungeon was the dust that swirled when she flickered into air, before settling on the ground once more.

* * *

_TBC_


	19. Jafar

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

For a few minutes, there had been peace.

The teenage mother, despite the dizziness she felt faintly in her head and the uncomfortable feeling of something wrong deep inside her, had gazed down at the bundle of pink and white blankets in her arms. Her baby daughter, the Princess of Agrabah, was less than hour old, but slept soundly, unaware of her mother's health in delivering her, and unaware of an entire city waiting to hear news of her arrival, still hoping for a prince.

Resting one hand against the baby's cheek, she pressed her lips lightly to its forehead, the only kiss that she would be able to give her child. She closed her eyes against the headache, and then felt the nurse's hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back. "Would you like me to show her to the Sultan?" the nurse asked quietly, and she nodded.

In one smooth motion, the nurse had lifted the baby out of her mother's arms and left the room, taking the baby out to show the two men that would have all control over the infant for the rest of her life. Sadly, the mother watched her baby leave the room, before closing her eyes tiredly, eyes that wouldn't open again.

"Here she is," the nurse whispered as she moved the baby into its father's arms, unaware of what was happening to her patient. "It's a girl..."

Her voice had trailed off nervously, but the Sultan beamed at the sight of his young daughter. He was simply ecstatic to have a child, after unfortunate luck that had bestowed barren after barren wife on him. This child's birth was far more important than whether it was a girl or boy; it didn't matter the gender, for finally there was a child that could continue the royal line. This baby would be his pride and joy; his beautiful daughter. "Perfection," the Sultan said with a wondering tone to his voice, then shifted the blankets to show his vizier. "Look, Jafar, we have a princess!"

Jafar had stared at the baby with a neutral look on his face, but the faint sneer could just be detected on his lips. It was impossible for him to know whether his disgust was due to the baby's gender, or whether the pain of losing his family was still too sore. "It's female," he said pointedly. "What use will she be? She can't do anything; you'll just need to marry her off. You may as well not have had a child."

And with that, Jafar had turned on his heel and stalked away, not caring to look at the Princess for any further moment.

In years to come, with the birth of his own daughter, Jafar would not apologise for his words but mentally, he took them all back.

For one of the few times in his life, Jafar's smile had been genuine and natural at the sight of the baby Aziza, unaware of the relief that crossed Jasmine's face at his expression. He had been completely truthful all the way through Jasmine's pregnancy when he'd told her that he wasn't bothered what gender the baby would be, that he had no real preference. In that regards, he knew that Jasmine counted herself lucky that he felt that way – not many men in Agrabah would be happy with just a daughter.

And he was happy for two reasons. The first being that he was nearly forty years old by the time Aziza was born, and until nine months previously, the idea that he would ever have children had never occurred to him – being told that he would be a father had been a moment of shock, but not altogether a moment of surprise; with marrying a sixteen year old came the faint realisation that she might want children one day. One far away day... and he certainly hadn't expected that she might want them with him, so he simply ignored the idea.

The second reason was one that Jafar didn't expect most men to understand. After the death of Leila and their unborn child, he could not afford himself to be choosy when it came to having a son or a daughter; all he wanted as a wife that would not send herself out on a suicide mission while pregnant, and a healthy baby.

Not that he'd ever admit to any of that. Other than the quick smile when he'd seen his child for the first time, it was the only outward indication that Jafar was pleased with having a daughter, once Aziza had arrived. The excuse he gave for disappearing complaining citizens was that it was treason against the royal family, rather against the fact that Aziza was female, and his daughter, and nor did he tell either Jasmine or her father exactly how he felt (telling Aladdin was so insignificant that he didn't consider the boy at all); he'd never said his feelings before as best as he could, and he wasn't about to start now.

Besides, he had a sadistic and bastardly personality to uphold – Jafar had spent years creating it and he wasn't about to let that crumble into pieces.

* * *

Despite this, Jafar found himself utterly confused as to why Jasmine hadn't told him about this pregnancy.

He watched as she slept now in her childhood bedroom – the pain-relieving drug that Jafar had administrated to her was more powerful that anything the palace doctor could give her, but it had the tendency to knock one out cold, for possibly several hours at a time. But her breathing was deep, and the colour was returning to her face; Jasmine was out of danger and both she and the baby would be fine, the doctor has advised him.

Jafar still refused the children to see their mother; there was no reason for them to see her like this, and they could wait until Jasmine was properly awake. He disregarded her comments during her brief spell of consciousness, criticising that fact that he hadn't told her about Leila, to be no more than Jasmine being emotional and bewildered, and the comments had been unfair anyway – yes, perhaps in hindsight, and knowing Leila's jealously levels, he should've said something, but he hadn't expected this to happen.

His comment, on the other hand, he believed was perfectly valid.

Jafar stared at Jasmine's slightly rounded stomach, and wondered how he hadn't noticed it before – either she had done an incredibly good job of hiding it, or everyone in the palace, including himself, had been completely blind. In a way, it was probably a little of both – she had been wearing more flowing robes lately than she previously used to, and she had mostly avoided him, intimately and otherwise, since his attack on her – she seemed to spend most of her days on her own, or behaving upset and miserable. But she was a woman after all, and he assumed that she would get over it eventually.

He rested his elbows against the edge of the bed, staring at her stomach over his fingertips. He'd sent the nurses out of Jasmine's room, from where they had kept watch in case her condition took a turn for the worse, so that he could be alone with his wife and his thoughts, without anyone questioning him.

Jafar wasn't furious about the fact that she was pregnant, far from it; but he was more than a little displeased that Jasmine had decided to hide it, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like he had reacted badly to finding out about the previous pregnancies – and even unlike Aziza, they had actually planned to have their son. He had been content not to have any further children after Aziza, but their daughter's pleading for a sibling had eventually worn Jasmine down, who knew how lonely it was to grow up as an only child, female at that, to grow up in the palace. So they had given Aziza a brother (and Agrabah their long awaited prince), and despite the six years difference between the pair, the siblings had grown up fairly close.

So considering his calm and almost relaxed approach he had had to the pregnancies and births of his two children, Jafar was at a lost as to why Jasmine would hide it, if it wasn't that she was concerned over what his reaction might be. Vaguely he wondered if something had happened while he was away, but for all he could see, Jasmine had raised his children brilliantly – his son was just like her, and his daughter... when Aziza became furious, mostly with him, Jafar had had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop a smile; she was so much like him it was almost hilarious, she just hadn't learnt to control her emotions yet. Secretly, he wished Aladdin a lot of luck, at trying to control his daughter – if Aziza continued to be the female equivalent of himself, it was going to be a fine day indeed for Jafar when Aladdin crumpled under Aziza's attitude and personality; he knew that Aziza would be able to hold her own against the eventual disaster of their marriage, but Aladdin would be a complete broken mess, and Jafar was quite willing to sit back and watch Aladdin's misery unfold.

But as he glanced at Jasmine's sleeping face, his little sadistic smile faded at the predicament that they were in now, and a small sigh escaped him. At the end of the day, even though he felt lost on the whole scenario, Jafar really didn't care why she had hidden this from him, and this was not something that he could see himself bringing up in the future, after Jasmine's recovery – that was how their marriage seemed to work, by ignoring anything bad that had happened during it (and there were plenty of cruel times, most of which were caused by him by his own admittance) and continuing on as if nothing had happened. It had worked up until now, and there was no reason as far as he could see for it not to work for the future. But for him, as long as Jasmine and this child pulled through, then that was all that counted, and that's what would always count – and he would continue to hide that and pretend that he didn't care.

Realising the late hour and somewhat at peace with his thoughts, Jafar stood slowly, and after a moment, he leaned down and pressed his lips against Jasmine's. His cloak fell down around her, protecting her from unknown outside sources of pain, the moment as romantic as in a tale from Scheherazade. Jafar pulled away slowly, knowing that the kiss wouldn't wake her – he knew from his own experiences with the drug that the whole palace could collapse around her and she wouldn't wake, it would need to be of her own accord – but he heard a faint murmur escape Jasmine, so faint that he couldn't make it out, and even if he could, it would be complete nonsense.

It was when he turned away to leave that Jafar lightly pressed his hand to her stomach, and his eyes widened as he felt the sharp kick underneath her skin. The little one had kicked out far sooner than Aziza, and he hadn't been around long enough to feel his son kick; this one was only four months along and had made his or her presence known. This one was going to be a fighter, that much he knew, and that knowledge made him smile, which he quickly smoothed out before he opened the doors to Jasmine's bedroom, the usual dangerous glare replacing it for anyone he would come across.

Behind him, he didn't notice his son staring at from around a corner, watching his father walk away. The young boy continue to gaze into the empty corridor for a few more moments, before turning and walking in the opposite direction, his face a picture of determination.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Apologies for the delay on this one – staring a new job has rather thrown me for the last month or so. As always, thank you to lurkers, readers and reviewers for continuing with this story, despite my slack updates; there's about ten more chapters left to go for this one._

_Endless Diamond Sky – Leila's storyline is more or less over (though things are about to get worse still for Jafar and Jasmine), but she'll be back nearly at the end, where all shall be explained..._


	20. Silence

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Aziza's first memory was from when she was four years old and involved setting her father's cloak on fire.

She had been left to her own devices in the main hall, where she had decided to tug his cloak from where it had been abandoned on the throne. A sudden noise from outside the room had startled her, and the shock had raced through her small body, through her fingertips, and the next thing she knew, the cloak was on fire.

She'd ran from the room, and followed corridors down to her bedroom, ignoring the calls of anyone that passed her. Once she had reached the safety of the room, Aziza closed the doors forcefully, before yanking sheets off her bed and draping them over furniture, to create a tent to hide in, as if she could hide from the eventual punishment she was certain she would receive.

It seemed only a short time later that voices could be heard from outside the doors.

"I'll talk to her," she heard Aladdin suggest. "She trusts me; I – "

"You will do no such thing!" her father snapped back, and she shrunk deeper into the tent at the sound of his furious voice. "She is our daughter, and none of your concern!"

"It is my concern when I act more like a father to her than you ever do!"

Aziza jumped at the bang of her bedroom doors being flung open, before they were closed more gently. She could feel her parents hesitate at the sight of a giant tent in the middle of the bedroom, before they began to walk closer, their shadows appearing against the sheets.

Her father muttered something about execution.

"He does have a point, Jafar," her mother argued, and Aziza brightened somewhat at the sound of her voice. If she was here, then things might be okay. "If you spent more time with her – "

"I could swear that you're taking his side." The snarl was evident in his tone, and she sighed before lapsing into silence. Aziza watched her shadow pause, and then her mother's kind face appeared through the tent flap, her long hair out and tumbling over her shoulders.

"Hi, sweetheart," Jasmine said softly, a smile appearing on her face. "Are you alright? Why are you hiding?"

Aziza stubbornly remained silent.

"Do you know anything about Daddy's cloak catching on fire?" she continued to question, an eyebrow raised but the smile remaining.

Aziza hesitated, before her eyes narrowed. "I didn't do it!" she argued defiantly, her small hands clutching into fists.

"Then who did?"

"Nobody! It went on fire all by itself!"

Aziza held her mother's gaze for a moment longer, before Jasmine backed out of the tent. "You speak with her," Aziza heard her say, and she begun to chew on her bottom lip as her father entered, bending over to fit into the tent.

She let go of her lip at the calm expression on his face, no longer afraid but her voice was careful. "I didn't do it," she said again, insistent.

Jafar held up a hand to stop her, and Aziza frowned at his words, confused. "Go get a toy you don't want anymore, and bring it back here," he requested, his voice calm. Looking at him carefully, Aziza crawled out of the tent, and was shortly back with a stuffed toy that had clearly seen better days.

Her father placed the toy in front of them, and once Aziza settled next to him, she watched as he extended one long finger, and pressed his fingertip against the toy.

She let out a sharp yelp as the toy immediately exploded into a small fireball, which sizzled out almost as quickly as it had exploded, leaving nothing but ash on the floor. Bewildered, Aziza glanced from her father to what had been a toy and back to her father. On the second time that she looked at him, there was a faint smile across his face.

"Nothing wrong with fire," he'd calmly pointed out, as they had left the tent, Aziza beginning to feel better about what had happened. "You just need to be taught how to control it."

And control it, she could.

Sparks shot out of her finger tips as she tapped them against one of the curved columns in the main room, dying out as soon as her finger lifted off from the marble. Aziza had come some way from just setting things on fire, but there were emotional times such as these where she found it difficult to control.

"Hi."

The English speaker made Aziza turn away from the night-time view of Agrabah, and she faced her brother, who wandered across the hall to meet her. "What are you still doing awake?"

He shrugged. "Don't feel like going to sleep; it's not like we're being watched anyway."

The siblings' conversation continued in English, which was more comfortable to them than Arabic, having spent more of their life in London. It also came in handy within the place, with their parents being the only other occupants who could speak and understand it – especially their father, which was unfortunately something that the children occasionally forgot.

But for now, they were the only ones in the room.

"How is Mother doing?" Aziza asked.

The younger Jafar shrugged once more. "No idea, Father hasn't allowed us to see her. I suppose we can tomorrow, if she's awake."

Aziza accepted this as fact and turned back away to the midnight sight.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Speaking of," he suddenly continued, "did... did Aladdin strike you as slightly strange to you today? When the doctor spoke to us?"

"How do you mean?"

He hesitated. "Like he really cared how Mother was."

"Of course he does. He's my fiancé; he ought to care."

But the words were said without passion, as if were just expected of Aladdin to care about his wife-to-be's family – and the words were said with a tone that implied that Aziza wouldn't extend the same courtesy if they knew of Aladdin's family.

"Well, yes, but... it's like he _really_ cares... like how Father cares about her..." he stumbled over his words as Aziza stared at him in some confusion, and then he sighed, stating it as simply as possible. "Like the way you _really _liked Frederick."

"Oh, stop sprouting rubbish, Jafar!" Aziza snapped, more forcefully than she intended. "You're ten years old; what would you know?"

"You've noticed it as well, haven't you?"

Aziza glared at her brother and went back to her sight-seeing, but now she frowned. Yes, she had noticed, and had wanted to pretend that she hadn't. But it was hard to ignore that, coupled with the fact that her parents disliked him, coupled with the feeling that something was just... off about the whole situation. And while it was a situation that she had caused – the agreement to marry a man her parents dislike to retaliate against them – it wasn't really much of a retaliation if her parents were alright with the marriage.

But her brother was right; Aladdin had acted strangely, he'd cared about her mother's health far above than what a man other than their father should. It wasn't that she was jealous or anything – she couldn't be jealous, considering she didn't love him, something that wasn't important as far as she believed for the beginnings of a marriage – but she still found it questionable.

"Good night, sister," she heard from behind, and she nodded her head in return, preferring to be lost in nervous thought.

* * *

It was times like this that Jasmine used to comment to her dear friend Elsa that the children seemed to be just as intelligent and careful as their father, to which both would agree that it wasn't necessarily a good thing.

The worst and the best year of Jasmine's life prior to marriage was the year that she had turned fifteen.

It was the worst as her father had advised her that by the time she turned sixteen, she would need to be married off to some sap of a prince who was too self-absorbed to care about her. And so came a steady stream of unsuitable bachelors that Jasmine rejected, even though she ticked both boxes on their lists – having the title of 'Princess', and the ability to be an heir-making machine. Outside of these two things, they didn't give her a second glance, and so she rejected them – so many of them, her father was concerned they were running out of suitors.

Meanwhile, despite the misery of an up-coming marriage to someone Jasmine was sure she wouldn't care about, it was the best year as Jafar had been away for nearly a year since her last birthday, and there was no sign that he was even coming back. He was only supposed to be gone for a few months, but he had been gone for so long without word that Jasmine had beginning to hope that he'd ran into fatal problems and wasn't ever coming back. Her father, on the other hand, was concerned that his vizier had disappeared off the face of the earth – he was torn between sending a search party after Jafar, and just hiring a new one – and shook his head sadly at his daughter's barely contained joy at the idea that perhaps, he wasn't coming back.

And then, one evening, Jasmine had turned around a corner in the corridor, and there he was, striding up the other end of the corridor to meet her.

The sudden drop of her stomach met with faintish hint of blush on her face.

Since having met her unsuitable princes, she had discovered men, even if none had appealed to her. And after so long away, compared to the rest of the slim pickings that the world was offering her, she believed that she might finally understood what the servants and other women of the place meant when they gossiped about Jafar, a teasing tone to their voices.

He wasn't attractive by a long shot – the constant scowl on his face had killed that long ago – but it was the imposing height, the way with which he carried himself, how his cloak rippled in the breeze as he stormed along. The air about him suffocated of eloquence and danger, and the women would giggle at the idea if that sense of danger would cover to more private and entertaining areas about him.

Pity, they all agreed, that his personality stopped any of them from testing that out.

But it was the memory of their whispers that made the blush appear on Jasmine's face, and it was the cruel smile with the snide tone that turned the blush of embarrassment to a red anger. "Ah, Princess, isn't it a little past your bedtime, child?" he sneered, and her eyes narrowed in annoyance at him.

But then Jasmine wrapped her arms around herself protectively as she felt his gaze sweep down her body, and despite the shame she felt prickle on her face, she couldn't ignore the faint warming of somewhere deep inside her. It was almost like a strange desire, certainly one that she hadn't experienced with any of her suitors – then again, her suitors only seemed to view her as property, and not as a woman.

"... though you're not really a child anymore," he continued, cutting through her horrified thoughts.

She snapped her head up to meet his eyes, at his insufferable expression, and felt her hatred for him begin to take hold. "What are you doing back here?" she demanded, her face holding strong but one foot taking a shaky step backwards. This was new.

He hadn't missed anything. "This is my home too, if you'd remember," he responded, "and that wasn't a much of a welcome home, either."

Jasmine glared at him, and pushed away, going to move around him to the safety of her bedroom, not too far ahead. "You're looking in the wrong place if you wanted a welcome," she hissed.

And then her eyes had opened wide at the sudden grasp of his fingers around her wrist, and he bent down towards her, his breath hot against her ear. "You've already given me one," he purred, the fingers on his other hand drifting lazily across her bare shoulder, before he suddenly stalked away, leaving a bewildered Princess alone.

She'd leant against the wall, her arms clenching tighter around herself, trying to settle her stomach and not be sick.

Jasmine knew she'd always hated him before. But along with that hatred, there was an element of fear, the goose bumps on her skin where he'd touched her; she had always thought he was just frustratingly annoying, and now she had the horrible feeling that he was capable of more... she would need to avoid finding herself alone with him.

And yet, in the darkest part of her mind that even she was frightened of, this what she wanted. Their power games from when she was a child would take on a new level, this argument being the first of many with an nerving feeling behind it. Under the hatred and fear, there was the smallest amount of desire, something she would continually try to snuff out over the next several months and pretend wasn't here.

But even now, despite their lies, the sudden opening and closing of her bedroom door made the desire flicker up again, as she watched Jafar step into her room.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, the first time they had seen each other since they had voiced each other's lies. Jasmine held her hairbrush halfway to her head – she'd managed to pull herself up to sit on the edge of her bed, still in rumpled night clothes, and had wanted to try to look somewhat respectable. Her stomach ached from the stab wound, but not as much as she would've thought – then again, the emotional pain was far greater.

She watched him as he slowly walked towards her, uncomfortably aware of her stomach straining against her clothes. His gaze flickered down to it quickly, but then he reached for the hairbrush, pulling it gently out of her hand. "I'll do that," he murmured, barely audible.

Jasmine closed her eyes as she felt his weight shift on the bed behind her, relaxing into him as she felt his long fingers begin to work out the knots in her hair, followed by the brush. She fiddled with the knot in her sash nervously, before clearing her throat. There were apologies to make, and she felt the need to be the first to push her pride aside. "Jafar, I – "

"I assume you have your reasons for not saying anything," he said quietly, forcing Jasmine into silence, and she felt unexpected tears spring to her eyes at the chance of not being able to explain. "Jasmine, I can't deny that it was not hurtful, and I don't know what you thought was going to happen – if you thought I wouldn't notice that there is another baby in the palace. But..." he placed the hairbrush down beside them, and his hands moved to cover her own, "you are safe, and so is this child. That's all that is important to me."

Her fingers clenched over the sash, and she bit her lip in a failed attempt to stop the tears from falling. She had felt ready to say exactly why she had hidden this pregnancy – that she was afraid of him returning to how he was before, that the years they had spent apart had shown her how strong she could be, that she'd raised two children fine on her own. That if they had to re-build their relationship, start again after all this lying to each other, then she wasn't sure if she wanted to stay with him. She loved him, but she was so tired...

The tears continued to fall as Jasmine admitted this to herself; her sobbing was the only sound in the room. It would've been so much easier to leave if he hadn't known about this damned pregnancy. And it would've been so much easier to tell him now if he had been angry about being lied to, rather than just saying that everything was alright.

"Speak to me, 'mine," she heard him request, and he pressed his hand under her jaw, moving her face to gaze at her. "What's wrong?"

_What's wrong is that I love you, but I think I have to leave you._

"Where's Leila?" she lied.

Jafar sighed, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I sent her back; she won't hurt you now," he said quietly. "I should have said something to you but I didn't think she would touch you."

With that, Jasmine knew that that would be all of the explanation that Jafar would give her. She could hardly tell him off for that, considering she wasn't giving him an explanation at all.

She looked down onto her stomach, his hand warm against her skin, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Things haven't been right for awhile," he acknowledged, and she glanced up at him in confusion. "When you have your strength back, we will take a short vacation and get away from the palace, just the two of us."

Jasmine nodded her agreement, and closed her eyes against the warm kiss on her forehead, but she couldn't imagine that it would fix anything – it would be the same problems, but in a different place.

Jafar kept his lips pressed against her head for a moment longer than necessary. Yes, this vacation was what they needed right now – to get away from everything that was affecting them, to relax Jasmine, and in doing so, get his marriage – and his wife – back. Agrabah would be on its own for a short time, but that would be alright.

Besides, how wrong could things go within a couple of days in the palace?

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: The aim is to have this story finished by its two year anniversary, being November, though considering this chapter alone took two and a half weeks to write, I think I'll need to write faster! Hopefully it can be done between work and school._

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter and please review!_


	21. Broken

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

In all of Razoul's fifty-six years of life, he could never have imagined this.

An unmarried woman on the throne.

He watched from a veiled doorway as the Princess Aziza sat on her father' throne, her waves of hair collected into a high pony tail and her long, crossed legs enclosed in transparent violet fabric. Her manicured fingers rested on the armrest, tapping in time to their own beat, and Razoul could only snarl from a distant.

What on earth had been running through his boss' head?

He and Jasmine had left several hours earlier, for an undisclosed location, for 'a few days' – though a few days could mean anything from actually a few days, to many months, as Jafar seemed to have a tendency to lose track of time while he was away. The palace occupants had been surprised that they were leaving, as it had been less than two weeks since the attack on Jasmine and let alone her pregnancy – she moved with the uneasiness of a recovering patient; her footsteps slow and her face lost in internal thought, for the floor seemed more interesting than anyone else around her, including her husband; it was if she didn't even want to go.

But all of that in itself wasn't so bad, even if it was a little odd. No, was what not understandable was Jafar's choosing in who could look after Agrabah while he was gone – with both him and Jasmine gone, and with the death of Jasmine's father, there was no one in the family line as far as Razoul was concerned that could take over the throne for even a short period of time. The prince was far too young, the princess was a woman, and Aladdin... the idea of Jafar giving Aladdin the throne was hilarious.

So Razoul – the head of the guards, employed by Jafar for almost as long as he himself had been vizier, the trusted advisory – had fully expected to be selected to look after Agrabah.

And what had the boss gone ahead and done? Selected his daughter.

"You can't be serious about this," Razoul had quietly questioned Jafar after the surprise announcement, doing his best to keep the anger out of his voice. "She's sixteen and a woman – "

"Are you questioning my decision?" came the calm, but threatening, response.

"Of course not," Razoul lied. "But this is a travesty to all who rule! You're asking for trouble from the citizens – "

"Razoul!" Jafar had cut him off, rounding on his heel to face his guard. "I trust my daughter to be able to look after this city for a few days without an uprising! I also trust that you will be as faithful and _respectful_ to her as you usually are to me... I don't have to banish you from Agrabah while I am away, do I?"

For a moment, the two men of same age stared at each other, before Razoul glanced away, continuing to hold his head high, and Jafar took this as positive confirmation, and left the room. But Razoul clenched his jaw as soon as his majesty had left – the man was losing his mind, he was sure of that.

Razoul had always deemed him slightly strange, as everyone had – as younger men the guards would invite Jafar out with them to the trips to the city's ladies for 'pleasure', but he had always declined, much preferring to remain in his high tower with Iago; for reasons which Razoul and the guards could not understand. Of course, their murmuring about their boss and his strange lack of desire for women had been squashed with his marriage to a sixteen year old, and to the Princess Jasmine, no less.

But then he'd started doing things that had Razoul continue to mentally question him.

Like how he'd demanded no retaliation from the citizens over the birth of a princess – a daughter was all well and good, but at the end of the day, the princess was female, and therefore, useless. It wasn't right for a ruler to so out-spoken against what the men of the city believed, and Razoul believed that Jafar should count himself lucky that the citizens were too afraid of him to stand up and argue, let alone 'disappear' particular citizens for having the right beliefs. And now that that daughter in question was nearing her seventeenth birthday, Jafar's lack of action towards the Princess was concerning – it was all well and good for the Princess to get married, for Razoul believed she should've been married off the moment she reached Arabian sand, but to the street rat? There were many princes out across the land who would be willing to teach the Princess a thing or two on how a woman ought to behave, as they had been willing to teach her mother, but Razoul knew that the street rat would try to do no such thing – what were these men of Agrabah coming to?

Not to mention the fact that Jafar had stolen Leila away from him.

Razoul's blood boiled at this idea. Jafar had had no right to step into his personal affairs – it was one thing for the stupid woman to run away; it was quite another for the palace to hide her (for he was sure this was where she had gone). He was certain that Jafar had at least had a hand in helping her disappearance – though when it came to someone trying to murder his own wife, he hadn't even bothered to try and find the culprit.

Nothing added up about him.

And now he looked at Aziza, looking as self-involved and conceited as her father, and he smirked at just the idea – if Jafar had taken his wife, then he deserved another, or at least, take Aziza for himself. It would be satisfying to drop a shamed and touched Aziza back at her father's feet, knock both of them down a peg or two... if it wasn't for the fact he would most likely be immediately executed.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Aziza was now staring back at him, wondering why he had spent such a long time standing in one spot. Razoul felt his face colour at being caught staring at her, but his embarrassment turn into a glare as she smirked at him, and he watched her leave the opposite end of the room with her ponytail swinging, and a slight sway to her hips.

She knew he had wanted the top spot, and that he was angry that he hadn't been given it.

And he knew he wouldn't try anything, and she knew it.

* * *

Something about the trip felt wrong.

Something had felt wrong about the ride on the horse out to this new city – Jafar was insistent that she ride with him, to keep her and the baby safe from harm. Something had felt wrong about the apartment they'd entered – a floor and walls of cream, small tables scattered around holding candles. Something had felt wrong about the sight of the city beyond the window; it was as if she'd visited it before, as if she recognised it, but she had no idea from where.

Puzzled she was by this, Jasmine had asked Jafar if they had been here before – if they really had been here, or if she was losing her mind. He responded in the negative, which did nothing to ease her confusion, and then he'd drawn her into the bed, suggesting that perhaps the stress she was under was causing problems to her thinking ability.

But now, within the most unstressful activity of them all, the confusion only grew worse.

She rode him, trying to convey an expression that seemed like she was into it, but in reality, Jasmine's thoughts could not be further from what was happening. Allowing her body to follow through with the motions, move her hips into the right places, she wandered off mentally, biting her lip against the thoughts. Moving into this bed, making love to her husband... it all felt wrong, in this place.

She didn't want to feel this way, so disconnected from what they were doing. But she felt as if she needed answers to be able to...

"Are you alright?"

Jasmine glanced down at Jafar, who stared back up at her, with an eyebrow raised. It took a moment, but she realised that her hips had stopped moving. She looked away from him, releasing her lip from her teeth, and stared at a spot on the bed. "My stomach hurts," she mumbled her lie, moving one hand over her stomach, both the scar and the baby, as if to protect it.

Jafar sighed but pulled himself upwards, settling her back onto his lap. "You stupid woman, you should've said something," he scolded, before capturing her lips under his own, his tongue snaking its way into her mouth.

For several long seconds, she found herself lost within him – she moaned under his kisses as he rolled her over onto her back, while he held himself up onto his elbows in order not to crush her. Jasmine's foot slowly ran its way up the back of his leg, eventually hooking her knee around his hip, and she heard her own name groaned as Jafar pressed his mouth against her neck, amongst the pillow of her hair, his fists clenching in it.

And slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, gazing through the flickering candlelight at the lights of the unknown city outside of the window.

Suddenly, every touch of his skin against hers intensified.

The scream in her head rang with such howling that Jasmine suddenly wrenched her head back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed tight against the sound and her tears. The pain within her blew out from a white hot point deep within her, far worse than the first time that she remembered him taking her by force... the hypnotism she'd been under was clearing and where she was now was becoming more obvious; no, the pain she felt now was the memory of the first time, period. How her wrists had been forced against the mattress, how she'd been forced to do things that she was horrified at now, now that it all came crashing back. She'd never had a chance to say no because she had had no control over her mind, or what she wanted to think.

And it was all his fault.

Jasmine opened her eyes, her breathing unsteady and wild, and she barely made out Jafar's voice around her, though the ringing in her ears. "... wrong?" was all she could hear of his question.

There was a beat of silence as her world slid back into place.

"Get off of me!" she fairly screamed, and obediently, he scrambled off her, his eyes a mix of confusion and anger. Quickly, she drew a sheet around her body, wanting some sort of protection from him. "You lied to me! We _have _been here before!"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped back, feeling the anger take hold of him and burying deep any concern for her.

"I'm not stupid!" Jasmine continued to scream at him, unable to keep a grasp on her emotions, the tears freely falling from her eyes. "You took me here after the wedding, you kept me hypnotised so that you... so that you could..." As she trailed off, her voice began to grow hoarse, her eyes wildly searching over his face for some sort of comfort.

And finding none.

"Alright, fine, Jasmine!" Jafar shouted back at her, his suddenly loud tone of voice quieting her into submission, as he got off the bed and pulled on black silk pants. He rounded on her then, and her eyes flew open. "Yes, we came here after the wedding, how on earth was I supposed to know that you'd remember that, you haven't remembered it in eighteen years!" His voice dipped into sarcasm, "I'm _so _sorry that I lied, something people believe I do on a regular basis!"

"That's no excuse!" came back the tearful response, as she knelt up on the mattress, attempting to become eye-to-eye, "It doesn't matter if I never remembered it! Why did you keep me hypnotised, why didn't you give me a choice?"

"A choice?" he spat out, an almost hysterical laugh in his throat. He knew the words were coming, he knew he shouldn't say them, but in the emotional sandstorm that they'd both been caught up in, he was powerless to stop them. "You made your choice – you decided to marry me, I didn't force you to do it! And don't pretend to play dumb with me, girl – you know damn well that when you married me, your life was in my hands; do you think I would've cared back then if you weren't hypnotised and you said no to consummation?" His faced darkened and his tone became a hiss, "I would've raped you anyway, and I would've enjoyed it!"

He was immediately slapped across the face.

And he knew he deserved it.

Jasmine swallowed hard, trying not to let his words to get to her, as she suddenly looked at his hand, almost too ashamed to look up at his face. She'd only ever hit him twice, once in self-defence, and once now, and like before, she seemed half-amazed, half-horrified that she'd actually done it.

She felt his shadow hover over her, before his hands clamped down around her forearms – she tried to yank herself away from him, but he held her tighter, until she finally forced herself to look at him. The red handprint was creeping its way over his cheek, and his dark eyes were narrowed, but the anger was beginning to cool within them. "I'm not going to apologise for something I didn't do – "

"You've never apologised for anything you have done."

"Jasmine."

He cleared his throat.

"But I didn't expect you'd remember something under hypnotism; on that, I assumed it would be easier on _you_ if you were hypnotised... considering, if I remember correctly, you hated me?"

Jasmine looked away, drawing her knees up to her chest protectively. Very slowly, Jafar moved one hand to press it lightly against the side of her head, and despite herself, she moved into his hand, and slid her eyes shut as his thumb ran over them, moving away her tears. "Things haven't been right between us since... since I attacked you. I know what happened is entirely my fault. But if things are going to get better then I need you to forgive me, and tell me what I can do to help you."

"I forgive you," she said quietly, but both knew that she merely spoke the words, not meaning them.

"No, you don't," he argued, "otherwise things wouldn't be this way now. Jasmine," she looked up at him, "tell me what is wrong. Or tell me what I can do."

She swallowed, suddenly feeling tired, and not willing to have his talk with him. With the thoughts of leaving dancing in her head lately, she was afraid that she was going to come out and say something she didn't mean, just as he had. "I don't know," she sighed, before crawling up the bed and under the sheet she'd wrapped herself in, her back towards him as she rolled over and hugged a pillow, her eyes closing.

Jafar stared at his wife, waiting for her to speak, but instead, he wound up watching her until she fell asleep. Sighing heavily, he blew out the candles, and slipped into bed beside her, his eyes on the ceiling.

In the darkness, he prayed.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: Thanks Lilies, Eriks and Endless for the reviews on the last chapter, and the many other lurkers and followers who read it as well – it's always rewarding to see people reading it, even if too long a time has gone by between chapters. I know it's not the best thing in the world to set a deadline – I've always believed in waiting for a quality chapter rather than rushing it, especially towards the end – but otherwise it'll take far too long to finish it; admittedly, most of this chapter was written during my working day. That said, the plot is finally falling into place for me now, so all that has to be done is write it..._


	22. Truth

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Aladdin paced the throne room, nervously.

It was well past midnight and he was the only one still moving around, besides the guards. The servants had retired, Jafar and Jasmine had left early the previous morning (and were now, unknown to him, involved in a bitter argument), their son had gone to sleep a couple of hours prior and their daughter, Aladdin figured, was mostly likely not asleep but still lurking about her bedroom.

Their daughter. His fiancée.

Aladdin sighed.

They would already have been married by now if it wasn't for Jasmine's attack, and now it had been rescheduled for when her parents returned, though no one was quite sure when that would be. But the closer the wedding loomed, though it had been all his idea, the more Aladdin's stomach twisted on itself at what he was doing, to himself, and to Aziza.

Jasmine had warned him weeks ago to stay away from her daughter, and when she had, Aladdin hadn't been sure whom she had been trying to protect – Aziza from Aladdin, or Aladdin from Jafar. And now, everyone had been surprised by Jafar's easy authorisation of the marriage (the reasons for which no one knew, and no one was brave enough to ask), so he was sure he had nothing to fear from him.

Which would have meant that Jasmine was trying to protect Aziza from him, which, until a few days previously, was laughable. Surely, she hadn't thought that he would attack Aziza the same way that he was certain Jafar must've attacked her at some stage? If she believed that, then Aladdin felt that Jasmine surely didn't know him very well at all, that he never would touch either one of them – for Allah's sake, he'd never even striked back at Jafar despite his attacks. He just didn't have it in his blood to be so unkind.

But after Jasmine's attack, after the concern he felt for her, Aladdin had begun to realise that no, Jasmine didn't think that he would physically attack her daughter.

She didn't want Aziza to suffer in a loveless marriage. As she continued to do so.

"_You love me"_

"_I do. But as a friend"_

It had been years since Jasmine had spoken those words to him, and now that he was about to marry Aziza, he understood had difficult it would've been for her to say that to him.

Seeing Jasmine suffer at the hands of an unknown killer, hearing her life was hanging from a thread, had driven the point him for Aladdin – Jasmine could murder all the citizens of Agrabah, and Aladdin would still love her, and still dream that one day, she could be his, no matter how unlikely this dream seemed to become with each passing year. There was nothing that Jasmine could do in his eyes that would ever make him stop loving her, and once upon a time, even for only a few days, he knew that she'd that love for him.

And despite that fact that she'd loved Aladdin, she'd forced herself to marry someone else. Despite Aladdin being in love with her, he was forcing himself to marry someone else. And unlike in Jasmine's case, where Jafar had suffered nothing for it, Aziza would.

How could he force Aziza into a marriage that emotionally, he was not committed to?

He loved Aziza, he knew, but as a friend, the very message that Jasmine had tried to drill into him. He loved Aziza the infant, who had gurgled and smiled happily at the sight of him, or of anyone, really; he loved Aziza the five year old, who'd innocently jump into his bed at the morning light and play with 'Uncle Al' until sunset, by which time she'd be worn out and he would deliver her back to her mother.

But he loved Aziza, the young, beautiful lady, as a friend, and while he looked at her face and saw her mother, saw the woman he truly loved, Aladdin knew that he could not be so callous as to marry anyone else, and punish them for his own feelings.

As it stood, they were making a mistake. And Jasmine had tried to warn him.

Swallowing hard, Aladdin turned on his heel and stalked out of the throne room, following the well-worn corridors of marble, cream and gold to stand in front of a particular closed door. Raising one fist, he knocked, once.

"Just a minute!"

He heard Aziza call out from inside the bedroom, the gentle patter of her feet running around briefly, before the sound came closer to the double doors, and carefully, she opened one of them slightly.

Aziza mastered up a smile, but it was fleeting, and cool. "Hello, Aladdin," she said quietly, her hands moving to tighten the sash of her robe. "It's awfully late; I was just about to retire..."

"I understand," he bowed slightly, "but we need to speak, and I would rather not delay it."

He looked at her carefully, in the few moments that it took her to respond. Biting her lip – an automatic reaction that she'd inherited from her mother – and looking down at their feet, Aladdin had the uncanny gut feeling that somehow, she knew, or vaguely knew, why he might be here, and what he wished to discussed. But surely, that had to be impossible.

Finally she sighed, and opened the door fully, walking away from it and back into her bedroom. "Come in, then," she agreed, moving towards a pitcher of water. "Would you like something to drink?"

He closed the door behind him. "No, thank you," he replied, going to stand next to her, and for several seconds the engaged couple stared at each other, Aziza waiting for him to speak, the uncertainty clearly written over her face.

Aladdin opened his mouth to speak, and as he did so, he made a decision.

The idea of marrying him would still be open to her, once he told her all that he needed to say. He would be surprised and amazed if she decided to proceed with the marriage, but understanding if she decided not to.

And so he told her.

Everything.

* * *

The sorcerer and the queen ascended the stairs to the palace in cold silence.

Jafar sighed as he ran his hand over his face in sheer frustration. The short break away had backfired rather than improved anything, as he hoped it might, and Jasmine had barely spoken to him since their fight the previous evening – it had only been one day since they'd left the palace, and he'd seen little point in extending it.

He truly had no idea what Jasmine's problem was, and was exhausted trying to deal with her issues when he wasn't entirely sure what they were. So she was annoyed that he'd hypnotised her during their honeymoon, to have his way with her – the reaction that Jafar struggled against was to roll his eyes and tell her to get over it, and while before his death he thought that reaction might've worked before, he now had no idea where he stood near Jasmine. Years ago, he could've suggested the alternative to her – not hypnotise her and make her suffer under him – and she would've been silent, swallowing the bitter pill and moving on. But now she seemed determined to argue it out, to demand explanations, and he had no idea what to tell her other than that was who he was, and she shouldn't have expected anything else.

And he didn't mind if she wanted to argue it out, even if it unnerved him. But what was frustrating him was that she seemed to just want to blame him for it all, rather than help him try to fix it, something he'd been trying to do since he'd attacked her in their bedroom. But his attempts kept seeming to not work – he was beginning to run out of options, other than telling her to snap out of it and move on, yet both remaining in silence, and that final option, he believed would just continue leaving Jasmine in her depression, the dark place that she seemed so insistent on keeping herself.

Years ago, Jafar would've ignored his wife's depression and expected her to continue as normal, not letting it concern himself. But now... now it annoyed him, for both the way she made him feel and for the concern he had for her.

As they slowly reached the top of the stairs, his hand reaching out to open the doors, he suddenly turned to face Jasmine, almost directly behind him, her long hair hidden by a hijab. "'mine..." he paused as she looked up at him, her eyes dark and uncomfortable. "I..."

The sudden bang and shout disrupted him.

"How could you!"

Jafar turned slowly to face his daughter, her slender frame between the palace doors, her hair awry and her hands plastered against the doorframes. Slowly, he backed down one step to be besides his wife, and with expressions of both curiosity and annoyance, they stared up at Aziza. "What is your problem?" he snapped, his frustrations with his wife being flung towards his daughter. "Keep your voice down!"

"You've lied to us!" Aziza continued, her eyes red with tears and lack of sleep. "Aladdin's told me everything! You've lied to us the whole time, and you were never going to tell us the truth!"

"Shut up and get inside!" Jafar shouted at her, not wanting for family arguments to possibly reach outside ears. As he all but shoved his wife and daughter inside the palace and slammed the doors behind him, he felt his insides twist as he realised that Aziza was glaring at him, and him alone – that she was all but ignoring her mother, and that her words were for him. As he spotted Aladdin shifting nervously from the other end of the room, his son beside him, Jafar suddenly had a very bad idea on what Aladdin might've told her. "What, in Allah's name, is going on in here?" he snapped, his stare shifting between Aziza and Aladdin, ignoring Jasmine as she slowly removed the hijab.

"He's told me everything!" Aziza repeated, her eyes cold and hard, as she stood up to her father. "That he's been in love with Mother ever since she was my age! That you and him have constantly fought over her! That a heart attack didn't kill you, that – "

"Aziza – "

" – that Aladdin killed you!" she finished, her chest heaving with emotion, as she ran over her father with words.

Slowly, Jafar looked over to stare at the street urchin, his eyes murderous, and all Aladdin could do, forcing the sorcerer to clench his teeth in fury, was shrug lightly.

_I had to._

_You had to do no such thing._

"Aziza, I don't know why he would tell you this, but it's not true," he suddenly heard Jasmine sigh behind him, and her denial of it felt like a dagger twisting inside his heart. "There is no need to come out and accuse your father of lying about such..." her voice trailed off as he felt her gaze turn on him, and he managed to bring himself to look at her face out of the corner of his eye, at the sudden uncertainly and hurt on her face, matching her daughter's expression. "Jafar, surely this isn't true?" she asked quietly, her first direct comment to him since their argument.

His slight gaze turned to Aladdin, and for a moment, they stared at each other, and Jafar was surprised to find he had no anger towards the other man, at least, not yet. Slowly, he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling both old and weary.

"Jafar, please..."

Her voice cracked with desperation.

Carefully, painfully, he looked at her, and his voice was merely higher than a whisper, knowing that the crash was coming but being powerless to stop it. "I... we... thought it would be less painful for you... if we didn't tell you the truth..."

The silk hijab fluttered to the floor, water between her hands. Of all things, of all things for the two men to agree on, it was this...

"That's how it always is, isn't it?" she questioned, and Jafar forced himself not to look away as the tear began to slip down her cheek. She took a step backwards.

"'mine – "

"Jas – "

"Be quiet!" she silenced the men with a small tone, ignoring the hands that were suddenly extending towards her. Jasmine stared up at her husband, almost begging him to take everything back, to deny everything, but he could not bring himself to do it. The damage had already been done.

"'mine..." he found his voice to try again. "Let me explain – "

"No."

Jasmine stared at Jafar a second longer, before turning away, her hair a curtain, hiding her from him. "I can't... I can't do this anymore," she faintly whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, and she turned on her heel, walking quickly, the children following.

All three walked out of the room, and away from him.

* * *

_TBC_


	23. Breakdown

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Aladdin's eyes flickered nervously between the husband and wife, the dark pit in his stomach opening wider as the tear fell down Jasmine's cheek, then as she walked out of the room. Aziza didn't give him a glance as she followed her mother away.

He had to force himself to swallow past the lump in his throat, which had been growing as the truth had hit Jasmine, and then continued to grow as he realised that he was alone with possibly the last person in the world that he wanted to be with right now.

The sound of his swallowing made the older man turn, and as he did, Aladdin felt himself take a step backwards, his hands in fists at his side, ready to defend himself. But as his eyes rose to meet Jafar's, he allowed his hands to fall loose.

Aladdin had never seen such a blank and numb look on Jafar's face before, as if the sorcerer had no idea what to do about what had just happened, and it was more unsettling than if he'd been furious. The only part of the man that showed any action was his hand, the fingers waving unconsciously in the direction Jasmine had disappeared in; it was as if he wasn't sure whether to go straight after his wife, or wait for an explanation.

And for once in his life, possibly due to the haunting look on Jasmine's face, Aladdin took pity on the man, aiming for the explanation to be quick. "Jafar, I had to tell Aziza," he said quietly, the look on Jafar's face never flickering at his words. "I could not marry your daughter with this lie – "

"If you hadn't killed me in the first place," Jafar's voice was low, with no emotion, "there wouldn't have been a lie at all."

"I know that!" Aladdin snapped back at him, and then suddenly cooled, not wanting the situation to become worse than it was. "But it's best that they know what happened – "

"How the fuck would you know?"

Aladdin blinked at Jafar's sudden swearing, and fell quiet at the dark, almost pained expression in his eyes. "It's very nice that you have all these 'romantic ideals' about how relationships should be, but street rat, you've never actually been in a relationship, and I've been married twice – I think I have a little more experience than you in such matters, no matter how much of a sadist you view me to be... be quiet!" he snapped suddenly as Aladdin opened his mouth to defend himself, and when seconds went by and neither said anything, Jafar continued on quietly. "You never had to say anything; they would've been fine not knowing, because they've never known anything differently. Not everything is about you, street rat, and as hard as I'm sure it is for you not to think about anyone other than yourself, sometimes you need to step out of your little selfish 'me' square and consider how what you're saying effects other people!"

If only he could take his own advice.

Aladdin glanced at the floor, not willing to get into an argument, so for now, he let Jafar's words wash over him undefended. "But it'll be better now, right, now that they know?" he asked, with hope in his voice that was killed as Jafar snorted.

"How are things going to be _better_ now, exactly?" Jafar questioned, the sneer evident in his tone. "You have effectively destroyed any chance of marrying my daughter, and with Jasmine..." his voice faltered, fear evident in his mind as he realised that what he was going to say may well be the truth, "... I wouldn't be surprised if you've managed to end our marriage. So I hope you're pleased with yourself, considering you're most likely about to get what you've always wanted."

But Aladdin was far from pleased, as his eyes searched Jafar's face, amazed and sickened. It was hardly news to anyone in the palace that Jafar and Jasmine seemed to be having issues lately, even with a new prince or princess on the way, but Aladdin couldn't believe that things had become so bad, and he felt horrified that it might be his doing that the marriage might be over. Something that might've delighted him before, but now... after seeing the absolute, pure sadness on Jasmine's face when she'd realised the truth, he didn't want to be with Jasmine at the expense of her pain.

No one could be in that much pain at what their spouse had done, if they didn't love them. Aladdin might've had no experience in relationships, but that much was clear to him.

"That isn't what I want..."

"Spare me," Jafar warned, then sighed and turned on his heel. But as he went to leave the room, he paused, and glanced back at Aladdin. "Do me one favour, considering what you've just done," he said, slowly, "Even though you would have a snowball's chance in hell anyway now... no matter what happens, do me a favour and do not approach _my_ Jasmine, ever... am I making myself clear?"

He certainly was, Aladdin thought as he sighed inwardly.

"Absolutely. I won't try anything."

As Jafar left the room, in order to try any sort of damage control that he could, Aladdin was surprised and numbed by how he truly meant those words, and knew he would keep that promise.

* * *

A quick glance of Jasmine's childhood bedroom told Jafar that his wife wasn't there, and he stalked towards the closed, gold ornate doors of their quarters. His cloak flew behind him, flowing easily, but the taunt muscles of his jaw proved that he felt anything but calm. He knew what was wrong; the problem was, he had no idea how to fix it.

Having a dress thrown at him the moment he walked into their rooms didn't seem to be a good start to him, and as he clawed the silk away from his face, Jafar watched as Jasmine moved quickly from the wardrobe to her vanity, side stepping piles of her things on the floor. With hurried hands, she started flinging cosmetics from the vanity into a small box, making every attempt possible to ignore the presence of her husband.

Jafar dropped the dress onto the bed, and slowly walked towards her, trying to keep his steps calm. "What are you doing?" he questioned quietly, hearing the nerve slip in his voice and trying desperately to soothe it.

"What does it look like?" came the bitter response as Jasmine whipped around to face him, and mentally, he wanted to back off at the fury on her face – the narrowed eyes, the dark streaks of dried makeup down her cheeks from the tears, the curl of her lip. This was beyond the flushing anger that he always believed only added to her beauty; this was anger that made her twisted and frightening, even by his standards.

He took a deep breath, uncomfortable by the strange reversal of their personalities. "Jasmine, calm down," he ordered, leaving space between them, not game enough to touch her. "We need to talk about this – "

"No!" The box of cosmetics were thrown onto the bed with such force that they spilled straight back out again, and she stepped dangerously towards him, forcing him to step back. "You have had all the time in the world to tell me the truth! You can't possibly expect to want to talk about this now, now that I know that you've both hidden this from me!"

As she turned away to fix the mess she'd caused, Jafar slowly wrapped a hand around one of the bedposts, merely watching her as his stomach twisted, and fearing that what he had told Aladdin about their marriage may well be the truth. Every inch of him wanted to fight back at her, to put her in her place, but there wasn't any way he could do that when he knew that this was his entire fault. When he spoke after several moments of silence, he was gutted to hear his voice so desperate. "Jasmine, if you can't talk about it, tell me what I can do. I have tried..." he paused as he stopped his voice from rising in anger, "I have tried to fix things and help you, but I have no idea what you want!"

"What I want..."

The murmur was so quiet he'd nearly missed it. Seeing her muscles slacken, he slowly moved behind her, his long hands slowly running down her bare arms, his fingers toying with the diamond ring that he had had perfectly made in London. "I want my husband back," Jasmine said quietly, her eyes shut as she ignored his touch. "I want the husband that I had before, from when Aziza was born to when Aladdin killed you." The last three words were said with no change of emotion. "All you've done lately is lie to me, attack me, and say horrible things... if you want to know why I didn't tell you about this pregnancy, it's because you've returned to being the man I hated, and I don't want this child raised by you like that."

His hands froze.

"I never lied to you." Jafar's voice was equally as quiet as hers, but more rushed, almost pleading. "All I've wanted to do is protect you, and I thought that the truth was worse than not saying anything at all. And I can change... hell, Jasmine, I've shown you that before and – "

"But I can't take now. I've had enough. I don't think... Jafar, it's too much, I don't think I can keep being with you anymore..."

"Fine."

The hiss in her ear was cold, fearful enough for Jasmine to open her eyes as his hands left her body. Carefully, she raised her head and watched him as he stepped away, his eyes appearing cruel and hard, but she knew of the hurt that lay behind them. And she felt horrible knowing that she was the cause, but believed that he only had himself to blame.

"Let me make sure I'm clear on this, so there are no misunderstandings," the final word was a snap in his voice, causing Jasmine to flinch slightly. "You don't want to remain married to me; you want a divorce. Would that be right, dearest?"

She stared at him.

"Answer me," came the demanding hiss.

Slowly, despite every fibre in her body screaming at her to deny it, she nodded.

"Well, if that's the only thing that's going to make you happy, then fine, Jasmine. I'll grant you your precious divorce. And I hope you enjoy being on your own because if you change your mind, you can forget it – I won't be crawling back to you."

As he opened the door, his back turned, he missed the silent tear that began to roll down her cheek, but he heard the choke on her breathing. He refused to turn around to face her, knowing that if he did, he would take all of his just spoken words back.

Instead, "Get yourself and your things out of my room by the time I return."

With that, Jafar left and slammed the door shut behind him, walking away to the sound of the sudden, broken crying in the bedroom.

* * *

It was night fall when Aziza found herself inside her father's tower, the door bolted and locked behind her. Slowly, she sat at the desk overlooking the city and for several moments, she stared at the dark sky.

Her eyes were dry.

Admittedly, she wasn't too upset about calling off her engagement to Aladdin. The sensible side of her knew that she didn't truly love him, and all along she'd had a feeling that something wasn't quite right about the whole situation – now she knew what the problem was. But even though she wasn't upset about the breakdown of her relationship, she wasn't sure she could look Aladdin in the eye, now that she knew how he felt about her mother.

Aziza sighed and ran one long, slender hand through her thick, dark hair. She hadn't been particularly close to her mother since she'd become a teenager, since her mother had fallen into a black hole only known as depression. But having heard her parents' argument from her own bedroom, feeling her heart break at her father's words of divorce, she couldn't ignore her mother's sobbing the way her father had. So despite the somewhat estranged relationship the women had, Aziza entered her parents' bedroom, drew her crying mother into her arms, and told her how proud she was of her.

And Aziza was proud. Not for necessarily seeming to give up on the marriage, but for standing up for how she felt, and for everything she'd gone through with her father, everything she had done for her children. The stories that Aladdin had told her had broken Aziza's heart, and finally, she could understand where her mother was coming from, even when she said the smallest things about not rushing into marriage with anyone, advice that Aziza had so stupidly shrugged off.

All she'd known was that her mother had been pushed into an arranged marriage with her father – to Aziza, that was bad enough. Never in her wildest dreams would she have realised how brutal her father had been, or how strong her mother was to stand up to him; how strong she was to stand up for everyone, though if she was honest with herself, Aziza had realised that Aladdin should've backed off years ago. If he'd backed off, her parents might've been happier, her father might've remained alive.

Aziza had to agree with her father. Aladdin was an idiot.

But despite everything, it was clear from their argument that they still loved each other – if she was anything like her father, as Aziza had always been told, then she knew that the meaning was different behind her father's words, even if he'd left her mother hysterically crying. But for the meantime, it was better to follow her father's instructions – after calming her mother, Aziza had quietly helped her to gather her things, and moved her into her old quarters.

And now, she gathered her father's correspondence from his desk, so many letters from so many kingdoms to respond to, and continued her task from the previous evening – her father trusted her enough to look after Agrabah last night, and although he was now back, Aziza had the feeling that he had other things on his mind at the moment than running the city.

So she unknowingly followed in her father's footsteps, doing what he had done for the Sultan when the Queen had passed away.

She stepped up to become the substitute ruler of Agrabah, and she would do it well.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: I know it's been awhile since the last update (damned health problems, work, school and life in general), and I hope this chapter makes up for it, despite it ending on a depressing note._

_Thank you EndlessDiamondSky, Skelani, Adira, ThatGuy and Star Dreamer for your reviews – I not only love reviews but I love to see what you all think of the plot and where the characters are._

_ThatGuy – in regards to saying she forgives him, she's merely saying it right now and not actually forgiving him. But even if she does forgive him eventually, sometimes it's worth it for the sake of the relationship._


	24. Discussions

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"_Jafar! Wait!_"

They were the first words spoken in three days between them, and they were said in desperation.

If he had even noticed that his wife's bedroom door was open, he would've turned around and gone back the way he came. But lost in his own thoughts, he'd walked straight past, and it wasn't until he heard her cry out that he realised where he was.

Jasmine had faced him from around the corner of the door frame, and he had had to pretend to behave unemotionally, a complete contradiction to how he felt – her eyes were red and her cheeks were blotchy, as if she'd been crying the entire time; from Aziza's reports, she certainly seemed to have had. Her hair was unkempt, her feet were bare, and the robe was pulled tight around her stomach, cradling her baby.

Their baby.

The baby that for all intents and purposes, she'd come out and said that she didn't want him to be the father of.

So therefore, despite the lurch of his heart and the temptation to take it all back, he merely glared at her with cold eyes, and she visibly shrunk back under his gaze. He waited for her to speak, and while her mouth opened, her chest taking in a shuddering breath, she didn't give any voice.

And then he walked away.

In silence, alone in what had been _their_ quarters, he now removed his cloak and placed it over the bed, before preparing his hookah and dragging a plush chair through the curtains onto his balcony.

The hard work achieved, Jafar all but fell into the chair, stretched out his legs, inhaled deeply and then stared over the night-time Agrabah sky with unseeing eyes.

Jafar wanted nothing more than to take back the words of divorce – words that while he meant them, he didn't actually want them to happen, and he was fairly certain that based on Jasmine's appearance, neither did she. He knew his wife well, more than she would care to admit; he knew she had suffered while he was dead, and he was sure that while she might be able to pretend everything was alright, he knew that she would be devastated without him – both outside of marriage and physically separated, for he was sure that they both wouldn't be able to stay in the palace; one of them would have to go back to London.

He wanted to take her in his arms, and hold her, and tell her that the words had been said in anger, and that they would work things out, and that he had forgiven her.

The problem was, the last part wasn't true.

His long fingers clutched around the chair's armrest, his body failing to relax against the smoke. There were many words that he knew people used to describe him – 'sadist' and 'monster' seemed to be the favourites, though there were the words that Jasmine had advised him that certain women of staff used, words that made him smirk widely – but even a sadist and monster had emotions, even if the street rat believed differently. And as far as words went, being told that he wasn't wanted as his unborn child's father sliced through and hurt deeply – at the memory of it, Jafar's eyes suddenly watered, and he told himself that it was due to the smoke.

And Jasmine's excuse. Because he was turning back into the man that he used to be. Well, he had news for her – she wasn't the woman whom he'd left behind in death years before either, or the little girl, more rather; he'd left behind a girl that obeyed him, did what he wanted, and rarely caused an argument – now he had a woman who seemed to do whatever she wanted, fought back and, well... stood up for herself. Which if he had to admit it, Jafar was secretly impressed by. So it was rather a pointless argument, and it would be beneath him to use it because he wasn't insulted by the woman Jasmine was now – if he was, he would've brought it up a long time ago.

Jafar sighed and pushed his fingers against his tired eyes.

He had no idea why she hadn't told him that she wasn't happy – what did she take him for, a mind reader? Fair enough, his attack and not telling her about Leila weren't things he was proud of, but he'd tried to make it up to her more times than he could count and this was all he got in return, though the word 'divorce' had been his... looking back, that might've been a bit extreme. But Allah be damned – he deserved an explanation for why she didn't want him around, and he would be damned before he went crawling to her for it.

"Father?"

Jafar jolted out of his thoughts but didn't need to glance behind him as the footsteps drew near, and eventually he glanced up to stare at his daughter, towering above his sitting position. "Daughter," he responded quietly. "It's quite late, you should have retired by now."

"We all should be," came her small response, and while he raised an eyebrow, he didn't have the strength in him to reprimand her for talking back.

Slowly, Aziza sat down on the armrest, cradling against his side, the way she used to do when she was a child. He allowed it. "Father..." she trailed off in a small voice, and he glanced at her through her curtain of hair. "My brother is afraid; he doesn't want to choose between living with you or Mother... we don't want to choose."

Jafar's eyes left his daughter's face, and unfocused once again on the starry night before him. "Unfortunately, sometimes you have to – "

"I told him that we won't need to choose."

His head snapped back up at that, and he looked at Aziza carefully, pressing his lips into a fine line as she continued on. "I told him that you won't actually divorce; that it is mere talk and no action."

"Aziza," he said quietly, a faint warning tone hiding in his voice dangerously. "I hardly think that it is your role to state what the martial position of your mother and I is... and besides, if you're so sure of that, go tell your mother." The last part was spoken under his breath, more as an afterthought to himself, but Aziza caught it.

"Mother still loves – "

Jafar waved a hand quickly to silence her, as he frowned against the faint voices – one suspiciously sounding like the street rat, and one suspiciously sounding like his wife, from her own balcony.

Ignoring Aziza's sound of protest, he gently pushed her off of him, and walked towards the edge of the balcony – while his balcony didn't face hers directly, he could just see them from his vantage point, leaning against the edge of her railing. Beckoning Aziza over with one hand, Jafar's face darkened as the street rat seemed to walk closer towards Jasmine.

Silently, father and daughter watched.

* * *

"I do _not _want to talk to you."

Aladdin pushed his foot between the closing door and the wall, and swore under his breath as Jasmine failed to stop trying to shut the door and squashed his foot.

"Jasmine, please! Give me a chance to explain – "

"Give you a chance?" she echoed, and her eyes narrowed at him through the gap, causing him to want to back off but knowing that if he did, she would slam the door shut in his face. "_Both_ of you have had months to tell me the truth! Why should I give you a chance to make up some nice explanation now? I'm not listening to him, I'm not going to listen to you, now go away!"

He stood his ground. "I'm not going away until you let me speak to you."

They held each other's gaze for several moments, staring each other down, her furious eyes into his pleading eyes. "Fine!" she snapped and turned away, not bothering to open the door for him.

Slowly, Aladdin pushed open the door and slipped in after her, just in time to watch her quite literally waddle away across the room and through the curtains onto the balcony.

He had honestly meant his words to Jafar when he'd told him that he would stay away from Jasmine, no matter what happened between them. But now with an apparent divorce on its way and neither of them seeming to take any step towards a resolution, it was too tempting to stay away from the woman he'd always loved.

If Jafar had no interest in reclaiming his wife, then Aladdin figured he could hardly be blamed for attempting to claim her instead.

"Aladdin!" The angry tone of her voice made him snap out of his train of thought, and he looked up to find her glaring at him through the sheer material. "Say what you came to say and get out!"

He took a deep breath and pushed through the curtains, oblivious to the two people walking towards a balcony nearby. "Jasmine, I can explain what happened – "

"Alright, so tell me what part of 'you killed my husband' isn't clear?" she interrupted, one hand unconsciously drifting to rest protectively on her stomach.

Aladdin sighed. It was not a good idea to argue with Jasmine when she was furious and had a perfectly valid point. "Look, I did... what I did because of us... because of you –" he suddenly hurried as she opened her mouth to argue with him again, "I thought you were better off without him and I didn't want you to leave Agrabah and – "

"What sort of whore do you take me for?" Jasmine suddenly exploded at him, causing Aladdin to step back defensively and the onlookers to blink in surprise. "Do you honestly believe that after the death of my husband of eight years and the father of my two children, that I would suddenly just move on and stay here and marry you?"

"I didn't think you actually loved – "

"I know what you thought!"

For a long moment there was silence – Aladdin too afraid to say anything more, and Jasmine struggling to catch her breath. Finally, she sighed, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Aladdin, you killed my husband, and frankly, I don't care what your excuse is. I hate you because you killed him, and I hate him because he lied... about it..."

Even as she said the words, Jasmine felt the guilt creep into her heart as she realised that compared as to why she was furious with Aladdin, her reason to be furious with Jafar was completely trivial. And untrue.

Jasmine bit her lip. Jafar had never actually lied... he'd merely said at the time that it was not important, and at the time, she'd been so pleased to see him that she didn't care that he didn't answer her questions. To either one of them, it hadn't been important at the time. He had plenty more reason to be furious with her than she did with him.

And she didn't blame him. She would be equally as upset if he'd been hiding some unknown child of his for all these years.

When she realised how petty her reason was for hating Jafar, Jasmine found herself forgiving him. But with a heavy heart, she realised that it was him that had suggested the divorce, that it was him that had walked away from her when she'd called out to him. He had told her that he wouldn't come crawling back to her, and she was too proud to go crawling to him.

He was just outside touching distance.

Jasmine suddenly turned away from Aladdin, and clutched the railing, her eyes shut tightly – she refused to allow him to see her cry. "I need you to go now," she said quietly, just barely loud enough for Aladdin to hear her. Wisely, he walked away and left her alone.

* * *

Jafar turned on his heel as Jasmine leant on the rail, knowing that if she opened her eyes, she'd immediately see him, and that was the last thing he wanted at that moment.

"Go see her," his daughter insisted beside him, and he purposely ignored her. "This is ridiculous – you know, if you weren't such an –"

He snapped his head around to look at Aziza, and she fell quiet at the dangerous look on her father's face, knowing that she'd been about to go too far. Quietly, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him alone.

Slowly, Jafar returned to his chair, and returned to staring out over the dark Agrabah sky.

He would see Jasmine soon.

There were just a couple of small matters that needed to be taken care of first.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: So I think it's fairly clear that this story won't be finished by the end of November like I had hoped, though there are only three chapters to go. I've been quite unwell for the last two months and between that and work and Arabic classes I don't have the time (or energy) that I used to, but it shall be finished and hopefully not in the far future!_

_Lilies – she won't return to Aladdin. For the other answer, you'll have to wait – same goes for Kroesh!_

_EndlessDiamondSky – I'm interested to know where you think Jafar's dialogue is slightly off? Admittedly the longer the story and the plot goes on, the more difficult he becomes to write..._

_Thank you for the review, Adira!_


	25. Revenge

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Jafar fired Razoul.

The now former head of the guards was speechless as Jafar stared at him unemotionally, from his place on his throne. Razoul had barely had the time to bow down to the sorcerer before he'd been advised that he was fired, and that he was to leave the palace by nightfall, with no further explanation.

Razoul licked his lips and attempted to hide his fury, knowing it would do him no good to bite back. "Your Majesty," he said slowly, only just forcing out the second word, "You need a leader to the guards. Otherwise, they will run amok."

"I will be advising that Ahmed has been promoted."

"Ahmed is a pansy."

And to Razoul, he was. He was a quiet, tiny stick of a figure who spoke to everyone with such great respect it made Razoul want to hurl, refused to inflict violence on anyone (believing that things could be worked out with 'words' and not 'fists' – Razoul snorted at the idea), and praised the ground that his wife and young daughter walked on.

Suddenly, Razoul narrowed his eyes at Jafar. "You can't be serious."

"I believe we both know why I'm asking you to leave."

The grinding of Razoul's back teeth could be heard throughout the room. There was no denying that things had become... uncomfortable between the guard and his employer as of late; the guard convinced that somehow, his employer had something to do with the disappearance of his latest wife, and his employer unimpressed by the guard's general attitude towards women.

Razoul had no idea where Leila had gone – he'd barely started 'training' her to be a submissive wife before she'd disappeared, and he was certain that she had gone running to the palace... but after that, there was no trace of her; it was as if she'd vanished into thin air. It seemed to be more than a coincidence that Jafar's attitude towards him though had become noticeably colder at around the same time, but Jafar had already denied once that he had had no idea whom Razoul was talking about, and as much as Razoul wanted to speak to Jasmine to see if she knew (for he was sure that Jafar was lying to him), he knew that if Jafar found out he'd gone over his head to his wife, he would _lose_ his head.

Razoul tried another path.

"Has my firing got anything to do with your divorce to the Queen?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

His fists tightened at his sides, and he had to control his voice to soothe the rage. "I mean you no disrespect," Razoul lied, "but if you're firing me then I deserve an explanation."

Jafar stared coldly at him, before rising to his feet, towering over Razoul. Slowly, he walked towards the guard, his cloak swirling at his heels, and Razoul stepped back against the dark energy that seemed to radiate from the sorcerer. "I am attempting to change Agrabah for the better, and those with unsatisfactory attitudes towards women are holding back that change," he said quietly, but firmly, giving him a round-a-bout explanation to Razoul's question.

"You can't change Agrabah, or its attitudes!" Razoul snapped back at him, dimly aware that he was close to overstepping the boundaries to his ruler. "You're in the minority!" Jafar opened his mouth to respond, but Razoul glared back at him. "What do you plan on doing if you're faced with resistance? Disappear the citizens again? If you do, the only men remaining in Agrabah will be yourself and the street rat!"

If Jafar didn't have the feeling that his personal life wasn't tumbling down around him, he might've listened and responded reasonably. But he pointed past the guard and his voice was deadly calm as he spoke. "Get out of Agrabah, before I throw you out, and take care before you speak another word."

For a long moment, the men stared at each other, one's expression as murderous as the other. Finally, knowing that any further argument would simply land him in trouble, Razoul turned and stalked away across the throne room, his hand coming to rest on the handle as he pulled the great doors open.

Then he turned back to face Jafar, who stood darkly in elegant robes, in the middle of the near-empty room.

"Take responsibility for your own actions, rather than punish everyone else."

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Aladdin was terrified.

There had been many terrifying moments for Aladdin in his life, the majority of which somehow managed to involve Jafar in some way – being trapped in the Cave of Wonders, drowned in the sea, flung to the far ends of the earth, nearly being executed, being beaten and his hand broken, losing Jasmine... and they were just the things he could remember in a heartbeat. Considering they were both in love with the same woman, it was rather understandable that Aladdin and Jafar were never going to be the best of friends.

Which made the current situation all the more confusing, and looking back, Aladdin thought that he'd been so surprised by Jafar's offer that he'd just agreed to it without thinking, or wondering how strange it was for Jafar to suggest such an idea to him in the first place. With Jafar's marriage to Jasmine on the rocks, and Aladdin's engagement to 'the only woman you might possibly have ever been good enough for' (Aladdin decided to ignore Jafar's insult) having collapsed, Jafar had suggested with a frighteningly sincere smile that perhaps they ought to drown their sorrows and have some fun.

It sounded like a good idea, despite the fact that they despised each other.

Looking around himself now, Aladdin couldn't help but try to move back further into the couch as mostly naked woman pressed herself against him, with a smile that he was sure was meant to be seductive but just terrified him instead, and he knew that he probably should've realised that himself and Jafar had different ideas of 'fun'.

Jafar glared at Aladdin now as the street rat particularly appeared in his lap, in his attempt to get away from the tantalising woman. "Get a grip on yourself, and get off!" Jafar snapped at him, shoving Aladdin crudely off him and sending him tumbling against the woman, who draped her arms around his shoulders. "I brought you the whore; you may as well enjoy her!"

"I didn't ask you to buy her for me!"

"Think of her as a secondary prize," Jafar replied, all the while completely ignoring the most naked whore of his own, trying to clumsily climb into his lap; she may have well been a cushion for all the attention he gave to her.

Aladdin looked at the pair in disgust, and then stared around the room, wondering where the exits were. Feeling the horror creep over his skin, he watched as other men drowned what he could only assume to be alcohol, with similar woman in their own laps, before disappearing into veiled rooms where certain noises were beginning to make him wince.

Watching Aladdin's gaze move towards the curtains, Jafar smirked. "You know, nothing's stopping you," he pointed out, and nodded his head briefly to the woman he'd purchased for Aladdin. "And she's willing."

Aladdin shot him a look, feeling the hate for the sorcerer begin to bubble even hotter in his veins. "I will do no such thing!"

"No one should die a virgin," Jafar sneered at him, before pushing one of the two glasses of wine on the table towards Aladdin. "Fine, drink this instead."

Aladdin looked at it suspiciously, uncomfortable with the drinking of alcohol – something that, like sex, he'd always managed to have avoid partaking in – before knowing that he had to go along with one of the two options that Jafar had given him, and this was the more preferable one. Slowly, he took a sip and shuddered, but at the advice of the man opposite him saying that it would get better, he continued to drink slowly... and soon, the glass was gone and he was well onto a second.

Jafar watched the man drink in some amusement, before eyeing off his own glass of wine. He was tempted but for the evening's events to play out well, he needed to remain sober. Gaining his whore's attention – something that was not difficult, as her fingers had somehow managed to start playing with his beard without him noticing – he withdrew more money from his robes than he was certain that she'd see in an entire year, and while showing it to her under the table, he pushed his glass of wine towards her with one long finger.

"Drink that for me – slowly – and the money is yours, understood?"

The woman glanced between the money and the wine and back again, torn between the last of the righteous morals that she held, and the chance to make a fortune. But the money won out quickly, and she slowly took the first sip, the alcohol burning on her tongue, her face flushed under the hard stare of her ruler.

The hiccup from across the table refocused Jafar's gaze, and he found Aladdin staring at him, well and truly drunk, his eyes narrowed. "Does... does Ja... Jas..."

"Jasmine?"

"Yeah... does Jasmine know that you come here regularly?" Aladdin managed to make out through his slurring, all in one breath.

"Of course not," Jafar lied without hesitation.

In fact, he'd never been here before; even before he'd married Jasmine, when he was pent up with anger about wanting to knock the Sultan off his perch, he had had too much respect for women to come to such a place; he wished he could say the same for Razoul and several of his guards – this was the very bar that they had often tried to talk him into going to, even after he married the Princess.

But it was too tempting to have one of his final digs at Aladdin, and he sneered. "But you wouldn't want to hurt her by telling her about this, would you? She wouldn't like it if you're here, either."

Aladdin continued to glare at him, and then the fury on his face was broken as he hiccupped once more. Rolling his eyes, and handing the money over to the woman now that she'd drowned the glass of wine, Jafar ushered her out of her seat and rose himself, motioning for Aladdin to rise.

"Come," he demanded, as Aladdin stumbled out of the seat, nearly tripping over his feet. "Let us take a walk."

The moment they left Agrabah's gates, the moment they slammed shut behind the pair, the sky broke and the rain came crashing down.

* * *

Aziza collided with her mother as she rushed to enter her parents' bedroom. "Where's Father?" she nearly yelled, having to make herself heard over the sudden storm outside.

Jasmine looked back at her daughter, biting her lip anxiously as she fiddled with the sash around her waist. "Hasn't anyone seen him?" she questioned.

"Everyone's accounted for but him and Aladdin," Aziza replied, as her brother skidded to a halt beside her. "They left earlier this evening; the guards say that they haven't returned and no one knows where they are."

Jasmine had to turn away quickly in order to hide her expression from her children, knowing that it would do no good to see their mother concerned. It hardly ever rained in Agrabah, and when it did, it tended to come with little warning – perhaps, if the sky would've changed colour or the air would've felt moist, she could've encouraged Aladdin to stay within the palace (she would've tried Jafar, but any words she spoke towards him at the moment seemed to fall on deaf ears). But as strange as it seemed, her mind kept flickering back to the dream she'd had months ago, of her husband swinging the sword down in the middle of the rain drenched desert... Jasmine might've ignored the dream, but her dreams seemed to have a horrible way of becoming reality.

And now that the storm had hit, Jasmine knew that she wouldn't be surprised if only one of the men returned to the palace, but she was surprised to realise that she hoped it would be Jafar, and not Aladdin. "Close the doors, children," she called out over her shoulder, stalking away across the bedroom, "and help me move the furniture away from the curtains."

The siblings glanced at each other as she walked away, before Aziza sighed softly. Her father's black robe looked ridiculously large on her small mother; the red sash was wrapped several times around her waist, gathering in all the fabric, and the end of the gown, while stopping on her father's heels, dragged along behind her mother like a dress train. But she knew that if her mother was wearing his robe, then she was seeking comfort – it was the most uplifting sign in days that perhaps one of her parents would push aside their pride and try and make amends before it was too late.

The rain beginning to calm down outside, Aziza called for her mother, wanting her to stop before she injured herself. "Mother, relax," she insisted, her voice authoritative and leaving no room for arguments. "The rain will calm down soon; I'm sure Father and Aladdin are just holed up somewhere and will come back once the storm is over."

Jasmine stared at her daughter for a moment, the attempt to swallow past the lump in her throat proving difficult. Running a hand gently over her stomach, trying to soothe her kicking baby, she nodded slowly and laid back on the bed, inviting the children to join her.

In silence, they waited.

* * *

In his drunken state, Aladdin at first didn't take Jafar seriously – he fell straight into the taunts.

"Apparently," Jafar shouted over the last of the rain, ignoring each and every one of Aladdin's drunken arguments that they should be turning around and going back, rather than climbing over the endless sand dunes in the wet, "Jasmine has decided that she wants to go back to London! She certainly can't go back by herself; _someone _needs to look after her..."

"Agreed!" Aladdin yelled back, strolling clumsily across the dunes, failing to notice that Jafar had stopped behind him. "I will go with her, don't you worry about that!" He closed his eyes and turned on his heel, walking unsteadily backwards, his tone arrogant and insulting. "Now that you're finally moving out of the picture, she can be – "

His eyes suddenly flew open as he landed with a thud on the sand, struggling to raise his head but the contents of his stomach burning in his throat from the attack. The stars beginning to fade from his eyes, he found them focusing on Jafar's face directly above his own, and the dark look crossing it very, very quickly. "She can be _what_, street rat?" he hissed, drawing his hand down to his sash and removing the blade that sat there. "She can be yours? You promised me you would stay away from her!"

"I have!" Aladdin cried back, beginning to panic at the sight of the blade, now moving to press against his stomach between them.

"Don't lie to me!" Jafar snapped back, his spit spraying Aladdin in the face as he tried to squirm away. "I saw you on her balcony last night! I asked you to leave her alone and you said that you would!"

"Of course I'd tell you that, why would I tell you the truth?" came the panicked response, the only reason the truth coming out being due to fear. "I've always loved her, and now I'll take what's rightfully mine!"

Jafar held Aladdin's gaze for a second, as he slowly pushed the tip of the blade into Aladdin's skin, causing him to wince and curse. "She was never _yours_," Jafar sneered, "and she's not around to save you this time."

He breathed heavily, the man underneath him frozen in fear. He'd wanted this for years, and now, the time had finally, finally, arrived.

"If I can't have her, no one will."

The sudden shove of the blade up and into Aladdin's heart sent the street rat hurtling into the darkness, into a dream that had haunted him ever since Jasmine had accepted to marry Jafar.

_She had never called out from inside the hour glass, and instead, had allowed Jafar and Aladdin to fight. In a moment that consistently confused Aladdin in the dream, Jafar had turned into a giant snake before Aladdin managed to trick him into becoming a genie._

_The Genie threw Jafar and Iago, stuck in a small black lamp, out into the desert, and the Sultan demolished the law and advised that Jasmine could marry whom she wanted._

_And so, Jasmine was Aladdin's._

Each morning, Aladdin would awake, depressed to find out that it was not reality.

And now, he wasn't reality, either.

* * *

It was nearing dawn when Jafar arrived back at the palace.

His robes tracked dirt and sand through the corridors, something that the servants would find within hours and quickly tidy. Dried blood covered his hands, and not wanting to wipe the street boy's blood everywhere in sight, Jafar moved one hand carefully into his sleeve to push open the door to his bedroom, exhaustion beginning to overwhelm him from the long walk back across the desert, and from the evening overall.

At first, within the dim light of the room, as he walked towards the small bathroom and closed the door, he didn't notice the three sleeping occupants of his bed.

Lighting an oil lamp, Jafar undressed slowly, allowing the robes and cloak to fall into a silk puddle at his feet, before washing his hands free of blood, sand and dirt. The light of the lamp hitting the mirror made him glance up, and for a moment, he stared at the man in the mirror.

The bald, tanned scalp was smooth, but his beard was slowly starting to turn white at the edges. His eyes were as dark as they'd always been, but the bags underneath them were beginning to grow heavy in his age, and the lines around his mouth were etched in an almost permanent frown. His shoulders were thin yet board, and as his gaze shifted lower, he swallowed at the sight of the scars crossing over his chest and stomach, unkind reminders of a past life, a life which he desired to forget.

Jafar felt too old. Too old for bitter arguments with a boy half his age, too old for bickering with his wife, too old to be a father yet again. And yet, he knew that if Jasmine would take him back, then he would feel young once more.

The charade had gone on long enough.

Pulling on his silk black pants, now clean enough for rest, he made a promise with himself to straighten out his issues with Jasmine tomorrow, before the divorce could proceed. But as he padded over to the side of the bed, he froze at the sight of his children, sprawled across most of the bed, and his wife, curled up on the side, her small hand clutching the corner of the pillow.

Ignoring his children for the time being, though quietly pleased that they'd stayed with their mother, Jafar knelt down at Jasmine's side.

He noted with some amusement at her wearing one of his black robes, before the ever present frown returning to his face as he realised that it had fallen open in her sleep, exposing a breast to the warm air. Pursing his lips, he knew that at the beginning of their marriage, that he would've taken advantage of this opportunity... and now, he merely moved the robe gently over her skin, making her decent once more.

Allowing his hand to drift up over her collar to her ear and hairline – always freezing when he detected changes in her breathing – Jafar gently stroked her hair, his heart breaking slightly at the dried tears under her soft eyelashes; a sight he was used to, and commonly caused by him.

Hovering over Jasmine, he kissed her temple, allowing his lips to linger.

He whispered that he loved her, with all his heart, and that he was sorry.

For everything.

* * *

_TBC _

_A/N: Originally I wanted this to be finished by Christmas... but the chapter wound up going for much longer than usual, and as it is now 2012, it clearly wasn't finished in time! But finally, Aladdin is dead! Two chapters to go – I'm away on holidays until the end of January so hopefully they might be written during that time._

_EndlessDiamondSky – I'm sorry to hear you've ended a relationship. To be honest a lot of the first half of the first story, and parts of this one, are based off my own relationship and marriage (my Jafar and Aladdin are based somewhat on my husband and an ex-boyfriend, respectively), which does make the relationship between Jafar and Jasmine a little easier to write. Unfortunately for them, swallowing their pride is easier said than done!_

_Liliesandroses – I don't view Aziza to be a Daddy's girl as such (I'd say they fight too much for that), more that she has a very similar personality to Jafar and therefore they can get along well at times. Her brother is ten or eleven years old; there's a decade between the two stories. Arabic classes are differently hard but also very interesting; I'm continuing to study that as well as belly dancing during this year._

_PrincessofSea and CosPalp – thank you for the reviews, hope you've been enjoying it!_


	26. Habibi

**The Small Print's Limitations**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

The more minutes that went by past the scheduled meeting time, the more agonising the wait became.

Though with each minute, Jafar became a little more hopeful, but he dared not to show it.

The divorce was meant to have late in the afternoon, and so he and two senior guards, serving as witnesses to the divorce, had waited for over an hour in the throne room for Jasmine to make her appearance. But she had failed to arrive, and as minutes ticked by, it was looking more and more likely that she wouldn't be coming at all.

Which had to be a good thing... didn't it?

The guards looked at each other with some nervousness, before one cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, are you certain that the Queen knew that it was supposed to happen today?"

Jafar turned and glared at him, but before he opened his mouth to snap at his guards he paused – he'd noticed that late in Aziza's pregnancy (for he hadn't been around long enough in his son's), that Jasmine tended to become forgetful, and so it wasn't entirely unlike her to not show up now. However, this time had been coming for awhile, and even if she did forget... it might be a good thing for him.

He called for his daughter. "Aziza," he said quietly, away from his guards, as she stepped into the room, the curiosity clear on her face. "Have you any idea as to where your mother might be?"

At his words, her eyes brightened, the nervousness that she'd been feeling behind the closed doors to the throne room beginning to lighten from her heart. "She's not here?" she questioned, unable to break the tiny smile from forming across her face, but then she swallowed hard at his expression. "I can look for her."

"Good, and don't leave the palace... did you hear me?" he snapped at her retreating back, but she'd already left the room. Slowly, he stalked towards his throne, and sat, waiting for the appearance of either his wife or daughter.

The guards shifted uncertainly. "Your Majesty," the same one as before spoke up, but now, his voice was quieter. "Is it possible that she is with the street rat?"

Initially confused by the comment, Jafar didn't respond for a moment, before the words sunk in. "No," he responded, his voice calm. "It's not possible."

Not for a moment did he regret murdering Aladdin; he wanted to run to the highest balcony and shout it out to Agrabah, but that would be slightly inappropriate. No, he just had to sit quietly and rejoice – the street rat had finally met his fate; a fate that Jafar had tried to seal multiple times, only for Aladdin to slip away or on one occasion, for Jasmine to talk him out of doing it.

He hadn't told Jasmine or Aziza what he'd done, and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to, or when a good time would possibly be. He had told Jasmine, but she had been sleeping, and so, he had to admit, it didn't really count. No, he'd wait until this divorce was over, and then tell them – he couldn't imagine that Aziza would be too upset about it, she was too strong for that, and she seemed to be too furious with Aladdin to be disappointed if he was gone.

Jasmine, on the other hand... Jafar deemed himself to not be a jealous man (how many other men would've allowed their wives to live under the same roof as a man she would've otherwise married? Not a jealous one). And it wasn't as if Jasmine had maintained a friendly relationship with Aladdin; her friendship with the street rat had all but disappeared once she'd found out that he'd murdered him. He hadn't been able to hear what she'd told Aladdin on her balcony, but by the looks of things, things had gone from bad to worse.

Despite that, Jafar figured it was probably better to remain quiet on Aladdin's whereabouts for the time being. Even if it meant Jasmine verbally slaughtering him again.

"Father!"

Aziza's voice broke into his thoughts as she pushed open the throne room doors, breathless from climbing the stairs back up to the palace. Walking up to him slowly, she gathered her voice again. "Mother... she's sitting out on a cliff, I spotted her from the stairs, come and look."

Wordlessly, he followed her out the doors, and stared out to where Aziza pointed next to him. She was little more than a speck in the distance, but sure enough, Jasmine sat on the edge of the same cliff he'd ordered Aladdin to be thrown off years ago. Her back was to them, and her hair was out, floating in a gentle breeze.

"What is she doing out there?" Jafar questioned, more to himself than to his daughter, but she answered anyway.

"Who knows, but she's obviously not ready to divorce you... yet." He glared at her, but she refused to back down, instead gesturing towards her mother. "For Allah's sake, what are you waiting for? If you're waiting for a sign, this is it, so be a man and go down there!"

Jafar stared at his daughter a moment longer, then his eyes narrowed. "Aziza, watch your tongue," he warned.

And then he went down the stairs to go after his wife.

* * *

How could a man so evil love her so much?

Aziza had been three months old, and Agrabah seemed to be crumbling down in the wake of a new Princess. Jasmine knew that Jafar, her father and all the occupants of the palace were trying to keep the voices of the citizens away from her, to protect her, but she wasn't stupid – she had heard rumours that many weren't happy about a royal daughter, despite her little girl being the most perfect thing she'd seen in her life. She had heard of the random disappearances of many of the particularly loud citizens, and the sudden extra time that her husband and his guards seemed to be away from the palace was too much of a coincidence.

She knew her husband had blood on his hands... and yet, with the level of his protection, it was beginning to dawn on Jasmine that he would go to any length to protect her and his daughter from the outside world, even murder.

But she had her own problems, problems that he couldn't fix.

In their darkened bedroom, amongst flickering candlelight, she stood facing mirrors, her post-pregnancy body wrapped up in one of his black gown – it dragged on the floor behind her, and the crimson sash looped around her waist multiple times, attempting to hold in the billowing fabric. Her hair hung loosely, and she was embraced in darkness so deeply that her face and slender neck glowed.

It was the first time in his robes, and it wouldn't be the last... she no longer felt comfortable in her own, semi-revealing clothes. Taking in her reflection with eyes red from lack of sleep and tears, Jasmine bit down on her lip, uncomfortable with her appearance, and this was how Jafar had found her, with tears freely rolling down her cinnamon cheeks.

He cleared his throat, but she did not acknowledge him. "If you're so insistent on wearing my gowns, I can have someone create your own to fit you," he said quietly. "You're so small wearing mine that I think the fabric will eat you right up."

Jafar meant this teasingly, so was inwardly bewildered when the tears continue to fall from her eyes. Sighing, he moved to stand behind her, and placed his hands gently against her forearms. "What is wrong, pussycat?" he asked, his breath stirring the hairs on the top of her head.

It was a moment before Jasmine could gather the words to speak. "I look terrible," she croaked out, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the gown, causing him to frown inwardly.

"I'm sure that when Aziza sleeps through the night, you will return to your very pretty self." His response was said in thinly veiled confusion, not used to dealing with the emotions of women when it came to their physical appearance.

"Not that," she protested, before indicating herself in the mirror. "The rest of me. It feels so petty but I'm so... heavy... and I can't fit into my clothes from before and I don't look the same... what are you doing?" she questioned as his long, thin fingers began undoing the sash, and he ignored her squeak of surprise and horror as he opened the gown, forcing Jasmine to come face-to-face with her body, and he forced her chin up to stare at herself when she tried to hide her eyes.

"Don't look away; see what I see," he ordered softly, his thumb gently stroking her jaw. "While it's true that you don't look the same, it's not for the worse; why would I want a teenager still when I have this woman?"

Quietly, they both looked down as he gently ran his hand down her shoulder, over the swell of her larger breasts, the non-perfect small budge of her stomach and finally resting on her curvaceous hip, all in a non-sexual manner. Jasmine was too afraid to let out the breath that she didn't realise that she had been holding, too frightened to startle Jafar out of the sweet honestly that he seemed to find himself in. "Look at you, 'mine," he breathed, almost as surprised by her body as she was. "This womanly, goddess body of yours is incomparable to the teenage body that you had. The fact that you are the mother of my child only makes you more beautiful."

He licked his dry lips, as if finally realising what he was saying, and how awkwardly out of character he was. Not wanting to push either of them too far, he closed the robe once more, and gathered the sash back around her. "Wear whatever you want, what makes you feel comfortable," he murmured into her ear. "But you are only hiding perfection."

The following day, Jasmine returned to her figure-hugging outfits.

For now, she sighed, running her hand lightly over her stomach to try to calm her baby, who had started a tendency to kick if she was in any way distressed. She had slipped out of the palace early at dawn, quietly leaving the palace and making her way down to the cliff seemingly undetected. It had been hours now since she had swung her legs over the edge and settled into the grass; both her and her baby were hungry, but she had to stay out here long enough for the decided meeting time to pass.

She had had all the intention of showing up for the meeting... and divorce. She hadn't wanted it, but when Jafar seemed all but uninterested in reconciling their relationship, and when she was too proud to try, what other choice did she have? But when she'd woken up to find Jafar asleep in the chair beside the bed... she couldn't go through with it without his words echoing around her head.

And the poor man thought she had been asleep.

The gentle touch of his hand against her face had stirred her into consciousness, but she hadn't opened her eyes in fear of ruining the moment; instead, she'd faked been asleep. And then heard everything... if the children hadn't been in the bed with her when he'd finally finished, she would've pulled him down against her and made love to him.

Jasmine's sadness at the loss of her best friend equalled in every measure the warmth she felt at his declaration of love... and his apology.

She was saddened over Aladdin's death but ultimately, not surprised. It had almost been a ticking time bomb between him and Jafar towards death; it was only going to be a matter of time before Jafar would grow tired of torturing her friend and just kill him outright. And while she was sad, she was not entirely devastated... she had not maintained a friendship with Aladdin while she'd been in London, and things had not been comfortable with him since she had returned – going from possibly his frustration of her going straight back into Jafar's arms when he had re-appeared, from his strange... relationship of sorts with her own daughter, to finding out that he'd killed Jafar.

For that, she could not have found herself ever forgiving Aladdin for. If anything, Jasmine did not mourn for Aladdin's death, but she mourned for the relationship that they had many years ago, and for a friendly relationship that they might've continued to have, if he'd been more understanding (and if Jafar was less of an arrogant sadist).

Jasmine knew that if she went through with this charade of a divorce, and returned to London without him, that she would be mourning for Jafar. And it would be worse than when she had mourned for him previously, because she'd known that he was dead – it would be all the more painful to mourn for someone who was still alive and well, but a great distance away. Where he would continue to living his life as the ruler of Agrabah, perhaps even...

She felt physically ill at the idea of Jafar with another woman, after her, and with that sickness came a small pang of sympathy for Leila... how she might've felt to return to find the man she loved with another woman.

Swallowing hard, and trying to ignore the tears at the corners of her eyes, Jasmine knew that she still loved the controlling man. To know this was as painful as the idea of being apart from him. She forgave him – in hindsight, his actions hadn't been as bad as they truly seemed, not on their own and not compared to others' – but they couldn't keep going like they were. Things had to change.

But while he'd said last night that he loved her and was sorry, he'd never said he'd forgiven her for hiding the news about his baby; she cringed at the idea of begging for his forgiveness and the idea of him mocking and deliberately being cruel enough to drag things out, but if she truly loved him, she would have to put up with that; she didn't have a choice. Sighing, Jasmine slowly begun to pull her body around to face away from the ocean, to try and pull herself to her feet.

And stopped still at the golden snake staff embedded in the ground, the swirl of the black and red cloak at his feet.

Jasmine bit her lip. She had expected to take the time of the walk back to the palace to gather up her nerves. And now, with Jafar right here, she had no time to do so... the shiver swept through her bones as she tilted her head away from him, allowing her hair to cover her face, hiding away.

"I expected you to be in the palace," he said quietly, his voice firm and void of emotion. "I believe we were supposed to proceed with divorce proceedings. You've wasted everyone's time."

Despite his scolding, Jasmine felt her heart beat begin to accelerate – since their fight, this was the most words he'd spoken to her, and simply the sound of his voice made herself fall at his feet. But she kept these emotions carefully hidden. "I needed some more time to think," she near-whispered.

"About?"

"About..." she turned her body slightly, still afraid to look up at him, tracing patterns in the dusk coloured grass with her index finger. "About us. And about what you said last night."

He didn't say anything, but she watched as his left foot stepped back, defensively. Pausing, she quickly continued. "It had gotten out of hand, and I understand why you've done what you did, last night. And I forgive you. For everything. It's almost as if... you were almost as if... you don't really don't really want this divorce – "

"Of course I don't want this divorce, you stupid, naive woman!"

He roared the words so loudly that most of Agrabah could most likely hear him.

Despite his tone, his anger and his insulting words, Jasmine felt her heart leap into her mouth at his passion, and felt her cheeks warm with hope.

"I do not want this divorce," he repeated, his voice several levels quieter. "I love you too much to want such a thing. But I do not want to remain married to a child who will not tell me when she has a problem with anything I've done!"

Her head finally snapped up, and the glare in her face was evident as she craned her neck to stare up at him. "I am _not _a child!"

Jafar bit back his reply, but his expression begged to differ.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck lightly, as they took a moment to gather their thoughts. Eventually, she looked back up at him again, before quietly reaching out a hand, and allowing Jafar to help her to her feet, something she was finding herself slowly becoming more and more incapable of with each passing day. Slowly, carefully, giving him plenty of time to move away, Jasmine gently placed her hands against his chest.

He didn't move.

"Jafar, I'm sorry for hiding our baby away from you. I'm sorry for hurting you. I don't want this divorce either but things have to change between us, we can't keep going the way we are," she murmured, her fingers curling around the fabric of his robes.

"Of course things will change," he replied back, just as quietly. "Look at me, 'mine."

She stared up at him, her face pure and innocent.

"You used to hate me, and you would've jumped at the chance years ago to divorce. Now, you wish to remain married to me – why?"

"Because I'm not sixteen anymore, and because I'm in love with you," was her simple reply. "And because I could not imagine my life without – "

Her words were cut off; that was all he needed to hear as he captured her lips with her own, their kiss deepening and becoming passionate. His hands were entwining in her hair, and he held her as close as he could, her stomach no longer feeling like a barrier between them. He could hear her grasp initially in surprise, before returning the kiss with equal desperation, her fingers tracing the side of his face and neck.

They clung to each other, never letting go.

* * *

_TBC_

_A/N: We will all ignore how long it took to get this chapter written and uploaded... hopefully the contents of this chapter have made the wait worthwhile. This is the last official chapter – only one epilogue left to go._

_EndlessDiamondSky – I think it's easier to write fan-fiction once we have experiences with relationships, that way we have something to draw upon. Yes, Aladdin is a virgin in this story... he could've slept with someone else, but that would be too out of character for someone who spends the entire story waiting for Jasmine. And unfortunately he did have to die... that's been inevitable since writing very early on in the first story._

_Kore-Proserpina, BurningTorch and PrettyChelsea – thank you for the reviews, glad to hear you're all enjoying it! Kore-Proserpina, to hear that this is the best story for this pairing that you've read is high praise indeed!_


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